


Front Runner

by makeit_takeit



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Closeted Character, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Horny Teenagers, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, My apologies to Tyler's Dad, Pining, Sexual Experimentation, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-19 15:36:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 60,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18137630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeit_takeit/pseuds/makeit_takeit
Summary: “Hey Rook,” a voice says, unexpectedly close, and when Tyler looks up it’s the QB. Tyler hasn’t learned his real name yet, because all anyone ever calls him is 14, or 1-4, or sometimes, inexplicably, Chubbs - but Tyler’s seen him.Shit, yeah, he’s seen him, but not from quite this close. He’s tall, big ass shoulders and big ass hands, shirt soaked through with sweat and clinging to him, and he’s got these big brown eyes. Tyler feels himself blush and hopes his face is already red enough from the workout and the blistering fucking heat that this guy won’t know the difference.“Nice hands,” 14 says, and his voice is softer than it seems like it should be, coming from a guy his size, a guy who’s the starting quarterback on the best high school team in Texas.“That was all you, bro,” Tyler shrugs, “perfect pass, eh?”14 grins, dips his chin and looks out at Tyler from under these long, dark lashes, and fuck, it’s almost like he’sshyor something. Tyler feels his stomach flip, feels his heart race suddenly, and shit, shit,shit- that’s the last fucking thing he needs.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just your typical _Tyler gets exiled to Dallas from Boston, meets reluctant superstar-in-the-making Jamie, and finds athletic and romantic fulfillment_ kind of story. In which the role of the Boston Bruins is played by a snooty New England Catholic prep school, and the role of the Dallas Stars is played by a giant suburban Dallas high school football powerhouse.
> 
> In other words, I’d been reading a bunch of high school hockey AUs, then when I was watching the 2018 Big 12 Title game the announcers could not stop talking about Kyler Murray’s storied high school career, and for some reason I thought to myself how 14 is a total QB jersey number, and now here we are. Because as it happens, I don’t know shit about high school hockey, but I do know shit about Big Time High School Football in and around Dallas. Write what you know, kids! Especially if you’re lazy and don’t want to have to google a bunch of stuff or learn new things.
> 
> Heads up - Tyler is 15 at the start of this in the fall of 2013 and everyone had to fit into High School, so some questionable math has been done to adjust things accordingly. JUST PRETEND IT MAKES SENSE. Also accordingly, herein you will find underage persons involved in various hijinks, sexual and otherwise, so be forewarned. Basically Tyler and Jamie are perpetually horny teenage boys so, yeah. Smut, ahoy.
> 
> If you want a bunch of possibly helpful/possibly superfluous info about the details, see notes at the end. The main thing you need to know is this is not small town, Varsity Blues, FNL-style Texas high school football. This is big city, big school, big money Texas high school football. It’s a whole different thing, y’all.
> 
> Unbeta'd as always. Sorry, also as always. If you would generously, or selfishly, like to help me solve that problem, I'm happy to take volunteers!
> 
> Updates are just me cleaning up formatting and typos.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

 

 

“Seguin.”

 

Tyler bites his lip as the guy behind the table reads his name off the paperwork Tyler just handed him. He’s probably in his 30’s, bright green cap pulled down so low Tyler can’t see his eyes even when he looks up. He’s got tan, leathery skin and bright white teeth, and his matching green golf shirt has _Coach York_ stitched above the pocket.

 

Of course, he says Tyler’s name like “Suh-GEEN”.

 

“It’s Seguin. SAY-gin.” Tyler tries as hard as he can not to be a dick about it, but if there’s one thing Tyler’s learned in his 15 years on earth, it’s that there’s something about his face that makes authority types peg him for a smartass, on sight. His best attempt at politeness still earns him a long, steely look from Coach York. Tyler can’t help jutting his chin out a little in response.

 

The guy chomps his gum a few more times, expectant, then sighs, loud and perturbed.

 

“’s that so,” he asks, in a way that clearly indicates Tyler shouldn’t bother to respond. “Where’d you come from, SAY-gin?”

 

“St. John’s Prep.”

 

“Houston?”

 

His eyebrow goes up, skeptical, and _Jesus_. If this dude didn’t like fucking _Houston_ , Tyler’s got a feeling he’s gonna like the actual answer even less.

 

Tyler steels himself, raises his chin again, and says,

 

“Boston.”

 

“ _Boston_.” Coach York spits it out like it tastes bad, shakes his head like he’s never heard anything so absurd. “Okey-doke, SAY-gin.” He shakes his head again like he doesn’t believe it, like maybe Tyler’s lying or something.

 

Of course this guy has never heard of St. John’s Prep, why would he have? Not like Tyler was expecting him to be impressed or anything, but still. They _did_ win State last year, so maybe the super sarcastic tone isn’t really called for, is all Tyler’s saying.

 

Well, not _saying_. But whatever.

 

The guy makes a few marks on Tyler’s paperwork then hands it back.

 

“Inside the doors and to your right, you’ll pick up your pads, helmet and practice jersey. You will be assigned a temporary locker until such time as you make a team, or are cut. You will be responsible for keeping up with your equipment and your locker combination. If we have to open your locker for you because you forget your combination, you will run. If you misplace any of your equipment, you will run. Workouts are twice a day, every day but Sunday, from now until school starts or you are cut, whichever comes first. Be here and dressed out at 8 o’clock sharp or you will run. And you address your coaching staff as ‘Sir’ or ‘Coach’. Fail to do so, and you will run.”

 

He pauses and lifts his cap up, letting Tyler see his eyes as he adjusts his hat.

 

“I don’t know how they do things in Boston, but around here we expect our athletes to show some respect. Any questions?”

 

“I think I’m good.” Tyler shrugs unsurely. Coach York keeps looking at him expectantly, that same steely glare while he chomps on his gum.

 

“ _Sir_.” He says pointedly, finally.

 

Oh, shit.

 

“Sir. Right. Sorry,” Tyler fumbles, “no questions, uh. Sir.”

 

Coach York nods, and jerks his head at the double glass doors behind him.

 

Not even 30 seconds in and he’s already pissing people off. _How’s that fresh start workin’ out, Ty?_ The voice in his head snarks, and Tyler grits his teeth.

 

+++

 

And Tyler gets it, okay? He’s well aware of where he is.

 

He’s seen Varsity Blues and Friday Night Lights and all that shit. He had NCAA 10 with Michael Crabtree on the cover. It seems like every third kid on the Rivals top 250 prospects list is in Texas, and not like he’s missed the media circus that is Johnny _Fucking_ Football. It’s football, it’s Texas – he gets it.

 

He _gets_ it.

 

But this?

 

This, he could not ever have been prepared for.

 

He’s assigned practice gear that’s about 10 times nicer than his game gear from SJP. As a prospect who hasn’t made a team yet, he’s assigned a temp locker in the visitor’s dressing room, and it looks like a fucking NFL clubhouse.

 

He’d heard about the stadium, driven past it when he came last week with his Grandpa to enroll in school and get the info about two-a-days, but they didn’t mention the so-called “Activities Center”.

Inside it there’s a 70-yard, regulation width indoor field where they did stretching and warm-ups and agility drills, before they broke up into groups for testing, like it’s the NFL Combine or some shit. He can’t even believe how many fucking guys are here.

 

There are three groups that are clearly returning Varsity players, they’re the ones with the shiny metallic-green helmets with the big pearl-white star, with lockers already assigned in the Home locker room. They’re the ones with the swagger, and the in-jokes and nicknames and shit talk to go with it.

But there are fifteen groups of, just, _everyone else_ , and Tyler’s just one more guy in the middle of all these fucking guys. He’s feeling maybe just a tiny bit overwhelmed.

 

His group starts with Bench and then moves on to Broad Jump, neither of which are really his selling points. Next up is Vertical Jump and he’s better there, comes in first in his group of 20, but his group isn’t anything special, anyone can see that. He can’t be happy just hanging with these scrubs, he’s got to measure up to the big boys if he’s going anywhere in this fucking place.

 

He smokes everyone in his group in the Short Shuttle, and in Three Cone, and he feels a little better. By the time the guy in the _Coach Frederick_ shirt enters his 60-yard Shuttle time into Hudl, Tyler can see his eyebrows go up as he sees Tyler’s times stacked up one on top of another, on his screen.

 

He starts to feel a little better, feels his confidence kicking in.

 

Coach York, the asshole from the check-in table, is timing the 40, calling out names and times to another coach entering the info on a tablet, and suddenly Tyler can’t fucking _wait_. He’s about the blow the doors off, show all these dudes what’s up, starting with Coach York, _Sir_.

 

When they whistle his start, he hauls ass like there’s a 250 pound linebacker coming straight for him.

 

“Seguin, four-four-three!” York reports, and Tyler notices he fucking gets the name right this time, thank you very much.

 

There’s a bit of a murmur from his group and from other guys at nearby stations, and a loud whoop from the next station over, one of the Varsity groups waiting to go in the Short Shuttle.

 

“Uh-oh boys, Usain Bolt in the building!”

 

“Youngster got speed!” Someone else yells, and Tyler wipes his face with the bottom of his shirt to hide his blush, and pretends he’s not even paying attention.

 

+++

 

After 5 days of two-a days, doing nothing but eat, drink, workout, sleep, repeat, Tyler’s still standing. He refuses to be surprised by it – he knows he’s good, okay? – but he can tell the coaches are, and even his Grandpa is, kind of, and maybe a little impressed. It’s annoying how everyone here acts like he had no fucking chance just because of where he came from, as if Boston is some fucking backwater town no one’s ever heard of, or something.

 

He’s kept that annoyance in check, kept his head down, and managed not to get on anyone’s bad side, at least that he knows of. He’s taken his fair share of shit from the guys for his accent, for Massachusetts football being weak sauce, for thinking he’s hot shit because he’s from Boston, and he’s met all of it with a smile or a smirk and no hard feelings. He’s kept his shit talking in return pretty tame, just enough to let them know he’s not some punk with a stick up his ass who doesn’t know how to be part of the team, but not enough to actually piss anyone off. He’s had to run twice for forgetting to address the coaching staff properly, but he’s not the only one. He’s learned to just start and end every sentence with the word “coach” and that seems to have solved the problem.

 

So far he’s done well in all his position drills, has been making his catches and looking good, he thinks, but he hasn’t had a chance, yet, to really make the big catch that’s gonna get him noticed. He’s dying for a deep ball, something overthrown that other guys would give up on but he can run down, or something just far enough off the mark that it looks uncatchable, that would make a diving one handed snag look like hustle, like a valiant last ditch effort instead of like some desperate kid showboating.

 

Tyler really, _really_ doesn’t want to look like some desperate kid showboating.

 

There are two other guys Tyler knows of who are also transferring in, who actually played last year for other schools, who made it through the big cuts at the end of week 1 that they call the Friday Night Massacre. But for the most part by Saturday morning, everyone either played for Stonebridge last year, or have already been cut. Now that all the scrubs who haven’t played football since Pee Wee but decided to give tryouts a shot just because Stonebridge Football is a Big Fucking Deal and they wanted to get a piece of that for themselves – like that was really gonna work out – have been sent home, those left standing can all get a little clearer picture of the lay of the land. Tyler can look around him and tell that he’s going to make the team; his worry now is about making Varsity.

 

As an unknown and a Sophomore, Tyler’s been working out with the J.V. The QB’s aren’t bad, but none of them can sling it as far as he needs it to really show off what he can do, none of them put enough zip on it to get it out in front of him. He can burn the D he’s been lining up against pretty easily, and in his own opinion he’s clearly better than these guys, but he knows it’s going to take more than 5 days to convince them some unknown Yankee import is Varsity ready.

 

He’s trying to be patient, but his fingers are itching as he’s heading for the lockers at the end of afternoon practice on Saturday, watching the Varsity guys still goofing off and fucking around out on the field, watching the starting Varsity QB with the cannon for an arm airing it out 60, 65 yards to his receivers, defensive guys tussling and shit talking them off the line but then letting them run out their routes with no coverage to catch the long balls.

 

“Yo, Usain Bolt,” one of the receivers - a ginger named Eakin, Tyler’s pretty sure - juts his chin up at Tyler when he catches him watching, grins wide at him as he’s jogging back up the sideline with the ball tucked under his arm, “you wanna get in there, run one down?”

 

Tyler looks at the lineup of receivers, all wearing or holding the Green helmets that say they’re returning Varsity guys. He bites his lip, unsure. He wants to, so bad he can taste it, but he doesn’t want to overstep. He knows now is not the fucking time to start letting word get around that he thinks he’s some fucking big shot. So he ducks his head, shakes it off.

 

“Nah, that’s okay,” he tries, but the guy just knocks their shoulders together and insists.

 

“Come on, Rook, show us something. Get in there!”

 

And look, Tyler’s never been great at doing much of anything other than whatever the hell he feels like, in the moment. So that’s really all the convincing he can stand before he just goes along.

 

He lines up to the teasing and trash talk of the other guys waiting their turn, and he knows they’re just humoring him, thinking he’s just some kid, but he’s not about to miss a chance.

 

When it’s his turn, he lines up against a huge DB that’s gotta be 6’4”, jukes him left then stutters right, slants left and long at full speed. He looks back twenty yards out to clock the trajectory as the QB lets it go, tracks the ball in the air, and sees immediately it’s headed straight for where he’s going, just like it should be, their two paths converging at full speed at just the right time. He watches it all the way into his hands, feels it drop into the cradle soft and sweet and fucking perfect without even breaking his stride, and hears the guys back at the other end all whooping and yelling.

 

It takes a lot to be cool about it, to hold back the giant fucking grin that’s threatening to break out across his face.

 

“Boy put you on your ass, Dillon!” someone hoots at the DB, who’s getting up off the turf, and Tyler’s trying to decide if he’ll seem more like an asshole if he goes back to accept their congratulations and risks rubbing it in Dillon’s face, or if he just heads to the lockers and risks it seeming like he’s pulling a fucking mic drop.

 

He settles for jogging over, chin still tucked down to his chest, and putting the ball into the corral.

“Thanks, man,” he gives a little grin to Eakin as he flips the ball into the metal basket, and turns toward the locker room.

 

“Hey Rook,” a voice says, unexpectedly close, and when Tyler looks up it’s the QB. Tyler hasn’t learned his real name yet, because all anyone ever calls him is 14, or 1-4, or more often, inexplicably, Chubbs - but Tyler’s seen him.

 

Shit, yeah, he’s seen him, but not from quite this close. He’s tall, big ass shoulders and big ass hands, shirt soaked through with sweat and clinging to him, and he’s got these big brown eyes. Tyler feels himself blush and hopes his face is already red enough from the workout and the blistering fucking heat that this guy won’t be able to tell the difference.

 

“Nice hands,” 14 says, and his voice is softer than it seems like it should be, coming from a guy his size, a guy who’s the starting quarterback on the best high school team in Texas.

 

Tyler would expect this guy to act like fuckin’ King of the World, but here he is, taking time to throw a compliment to some kid he doesn’t even know.

 

“That was all you, bro,” Tyler shrugs, “perfect pass, eh?”

 

14 grins, dips his chin and looks out at Tyler from under these long, dark lashes, and fuck, it’s almost like he’s _shy_ or something. Tyler feels his stomach flip flop, feels his heart race suddenly, and shit, shit, _shit_ \- that’s the last fucking thing he needs.

 

He mumbles his thanks one more time, then makes a beeline for the cover of the visitor’s locker room.

 

+++

The week Tyler arrived in Dallas, two weeks after the epic July 4th rager and _associated events_ which got him booted out of SJP for good, his Grandparents pretty much took pity on him, let him off the hook. They let him hide out and sulk in the room in their house that they keep calling _his_ like he belongs here, like they aren’t all very aware of how much he really, really doesn’t.

 

His Grandma helped him put his sheets and comforter on the bed, helped him hang up his few nice shirts in the closet, helped him put the rest of his clothes away in the emptied-out dresser. She said _of course, baby_ , when he asked if he could hang up his 2008 Celtics World Champs banner, his official Wes Welker jersey, his collection of Brady posters. She brought him some tacks and let him put them up wherever he wanted.

 

But it’s weird, to be there with all his stuff in a room that’s not his, in a house that’s not his, without his sisters fighting like banshees over the bathroom or the smell of those lavender candles his mom’s always burning. His grandparents’ house pretty much just smells like coffee from the pot they seem to keep brewing eighteen hours a day. It’s nice – a lot nicer than their townhouse back in Boston – but it’s not home.

 

The next week his Grandpa took him up to Stonebridge High School to enroll for his Sophomore year. They drove past the absolutely insane stadium on the way, and up to the giant fucking school. Tyler had seen it all when he looked it up online, biggest stadium in the country and the biggest High School in Texas and all that, but seeing it in person was something different. He’d done his level best to seem cool and aloof, unimpressed. He didn’t want his Grandpa to know he was scared as shit.

 

Tyler handed over the transcript his mom had sent with him from SJP, and the lady in the office at the school looked it over quickly, then smiled at him brightly.

 

“Well, welcome to Stonebridge, Mr. Suh-GEEN! Let’s see if we can’t get you settled in.”

 

She pulled out a schedule of classes and showed him what he could pick from. She didn’t make any comment whatsoever about the not-so-great grades from his freshman year, or about his choices for his new schedule, she just smiled and nodded and showed him how to fill out his paperwork in that weirdly-friendly, overly-helpful way that everyone around here seems to have.

 

Right up until he asked about football try-outs. At that, the look she gave him looked almost like pity.

 

“Did you play for your school last year, hon?” She asked, in the same patronizing tone adults use to ask a 3 year old if he drew his shitty, indecipherable drawing _all by himself_.

 

“Yeah,” he nodded, before his grandpa cut in.

 

“Yes, Ma’am, he was on the Varsity as a Freshman,” he said, “His team won State.”

 

“Oh, well, that’s wonderful,” she smiled at Tyler, and pulled out a packet of stapled-together papers.

 

“I supposed you’ve heard about our football program here, then,” she gestured vaguely behind her with her pen, to the painted wall of the office that proclaimed _STONEBRIDGE STARS, 5A TEXAS STATE FOOTBALL CHAMPIONS 2006, 2008, 2012. GO MEAN GREEN!_

 

Tyler tried not to be annoyed with the casual assumption that this football team is so fucking great they’ve heard about it all the way in Massachusetts.

 

Of course, Tyler _had_ heard. In fact, talking up the football program – _defending state champs, front runners to win it all again this year_ \- at their local high school was one of the persuasion tactics his mom had used to make her case for why he’d be better off living with his Grandparents. Aside from the whole - Tyler’s a huge fuck up and she doesn’t know what to do with him anymore, so he doesn’t really have a choice - thing. _Right_.

 

“It’s an elite program,” the receptionist went on, circling a few key dates on the papers, and jotting down a few notes before she handed them over to Tyler. “Most transfers find that it’s difficult to compete at this level, but some do make it. In fact, a few years ago we had a Right Tackle transfer in from Denton Guyer, and I’ll tell you what, he made all the difference on that O-Line. I don’t think we would’ve made it all the way to State in ‘09 without him. Of course, we lost to Katy that year, but -”

 

She trailed off, seeming to remember herself, and smiled big and bright up at Tyler.

 

“- the point is, it never hurts to try, does it? You just might end up being the difference maker we need this season!”

 

Tyler just nodded dumbly, trying to imagine the receptionist at SJP discussing the difference-making potential of Offensive Line personnel from 4 years ago.

 

“We’ll see you in a couple of weeks. Welcome to Stonebridge, hon, and good luck at two-a-days!”

On the walk out to the car, Tyler idly wondered aloud why everyone in Texas says his name like that – Suh-GEEN. He never got that in Massachusetts, even from people who’d never heard of him. He was much more likely to get SEG-wen, or SAY-gwen, in Boston.

 

His Grandpa just snorted.

 

“Fella named Suh-GEEN fought at the Alamo, spelled same as yours. Town in South Texas named after him, and a High School over in Arlington. You see that name used a lot around here, streets and schools and such, so I’d get used to it if I were you, son.”

 

Tyler knows his Grandpa’s never had much use for his name or the guy it came from, and it’s not like Tyler disagrees, so he doesn’t really have much to say to that.

 

+++

 

The whole eat, drink, workout, sleep, repeat thing has worked pretty well for avoiding his mom’s calls. But by the second Sunday of two-a-days – the day before rosters are announced, and three days before school starts - his Grandpa tells him she’s called the house phone twice now saying she can’t reach him.

The thing is, Tyler hasn’t actually spent much time with his Grandma and Grandpa Taylor in his life. He’d only ever been to this house a time or two before he moved the fuck in, and even those he was too young to really remember well, so he doesn’t know his Grandpa well. His mom talks about her father like he’s some hero, still calls him _Daddy_ even though she’s a grown ass woman, which Tyler finds kind of embarrassing. Tyler’s dad never said much about him, except to occasionally call him an asshole or a bastard. He’s always been nice enough to Tyler, but he’s a gruff old man, the kind that makes you think you probably don’t want to try him too much. So when his Grandpa tells him _call your mother_ in a tone that really doesn’t leave any room for argument, Tyler’s not dumb enough to disregard it.

 

So fine, he calls.

 

The way she says his name when she picks up sounds relieved, and he feels instantly guilty, then immediately annoyed. He’s not the one who asked her to ship him off 1800 miles from home, is he, so why should he feel bad that she misses him?

 

He asks about his sisters, if Mr. Dunleavy fixed that running toilet in the upstairs bathroom, if Marshall is sad without him, if the girls are taking good care of him. He asks if she’s remembering to eat dinner, not just feed the girls, because sometimes she gets so busy that Tyler has to make her just _stop_ and sit down and _eat_ , goddamn it, and she laughs and says _yes, baby, I promise._

 

He doesn’t ask about his dad, doesn’t ask if she’s talked to him, or if he’s been around.

 

He’s afraid of the answer, afraid she’ll say yes, that she’ll give Tyler another story and another excuse about why she’s taking him back – again – and he just. He can’t fucking handle that so he just doesn’t ask. One good thing about being 12 states away is at least when it happens again, he won’t have to be there for it.

 

When they hang up he feels suddenly, overwhelmingly sad. He misses Marshall so bad he could cry, so he does, just a little, curled up on the bed with a pillow over his face just in case someone comes in. Then he FaceTimes Brownie and is whiny and pathetic at him for a while, because Brownie’s great for that.

 

When his Grandma calls him for dinner, he tells her he’s not really hungry and says he’d rather stay in his room if it’s all the same to her. She smiles at him sadly and comes back about an hour later with a ham sandwich and a bag of Fritos and a Gatorade, just in case he gets hungry later, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying again, what the _fuck_.

 

He eats the sandwich and chips, eventually, tries to read some of _A Separate Peace_ which he’s supposed to finish before school starts, but he can’t get into it. Instead he opens his laptop and does what he purposely hasn’t done before, whether because he didn’t want to freak himself out or didn’t want to jinx himself, he can’t say.

 

He pulls up Youtube and searches for Stonebridge High School Football 2012, and shit, there are a lot of videos, man. Like, hundreds, some homemade highlight mixes and some video from Fox Sports Southwest and the Dallas-Ft. Worth network affiliates and stuff.

 

He goes through the clips, game by game, sees some guys he recognizes and some he doesn’t.

In the intro for Game 6 the announcers talk about how the Senior QB Cummings, the Four Star recruit already committed to University of Houston is out with a concussion, and that the Stars undefeated season could be on the line with the untested Junior backup set to get the start. They show the new guy warming up, Cahill - number 11.

 

Not that Tyler’s watching just for this or anything, but he was kinda hoping for a glimpse of number 14 in action.

 

They win anyway, even with the backup. 11 starts again in Game 7, but at the half they’re down 21-7 and 11 has thrown 3 picks and only 3 completions, and he looks rattled as hell. When they come back for the 3rd there he is, 14, tossing the ball around, getting warmed up. The Announcers practically cream themselves.

 

“It looks like we may be getting our first look at young Jamie Benn, the Sophomore phenom that many felt should have gotten the nod last week over Jackson Cahill,” says the guy in the booth, as they show a closeup on 14, looking a little rounder through the face and jaw than he does this year.

 

“Jamie is the younger brother of Junior Defensive standout Jordie Benn, and their dad, of course, is former OU Quarterback Randy Benn, a part of those great Barry Switzer teams of the mid 80’s.”

Tyler didn’t know Jamie had a brother on the team, but it all makes sense now, the Linebacker they all call Big Ben is actually _Big Benn_. Even though he’s actually smaller than Jamie, Tyler is pretty sure, he guesses it makes sense.

 

The video cuts to a couple in the stands, a pretty, mom-aged blond lady and a gray haired dude who Tyler can only assume is the dad in question.

 

Watching, Tyler feels nervous, suddenly, on Jamie’s behalf. I mean fuck, that’s a lot of pressure.

Not that you’d know it by watching the fucking clinic the kid puts on in the second half, though, shit. He goes 12 for 16 passing with two TD’s, and just slices up the defense with a stone-faced precision that does _not_ help discourage the little crush Tyler’s got going, like, at all.

 

The final score is 31-28 Stonebridge, and Jamie’s bashful little grin when his teammates mob him at the end is just too fucking much, Tyler has to shut it off. He can save the rest of the season for another day, and he’s got 8 a.m. practice to be ready for, anyway.

 

He takes his dishes to the kitchen like a good boy, but also just to make sure his Grandparents are asleep and the house is dark. He slides back into bed and plugs in his headphones, puts his laptop on his chest and pulls his knees up with the comforter over them, making a little tent. He hasn’t done this since he’s been here – has kept his jerking off confined to the shower where he has guaranteed privacy and the evidence washes directly down the drain – but it’s getting old, just jerking it fast and furious to get it over with. Tyler likes to take his time, when he can.

 

He pulls up Pornhub tentatively, like he expects some alarm to start blaring or something, and rolls his eyes at himself when the site just loads up same as always. He searches around for a while, until he finds something that looks promising. Young guys, no hairy old dudes and none of that Daddy shit, and the title says _Boyfriends fucking in dorm room_.

 

The guys are clearly amateurs like Tyler likes, talking and giggling as they set up the camera next to a bed, their faces not showing, just their naked bodies. The bigger, darker-skinned boy has a tattoo on one arm and one calf, and yeah, Tyler is so here for that. They end up kneeling face to face in the middle of the bed, pulling each other in close, rubbing against each other from chest to thigh. You can hear the sounds of them making out even though you can’t see their mouths, can just see their hands running all over each other, one guy pulling the other in close by his ass, their dicks hard in between them as they roll their hips into each other, grinding and moaning a little.

 

That’s all it takes, really, and Tyler’s got his hand in his shorts, jerking it to these two faceless boys just making out, groping and kissing. He thinks about Marchy, at first, about that one party where they made out in the basement bathroom, drunk and giggling into each other’s mouths, hands on each other’s hips. But then he remembers Marchy puking right after and then pretending not to remember the next day, and that kind of kills it.

 

So fine, fuck it, _welcome to the roster, 1-4_ , Tyler thinks, as the boys on the screen shift to lying down, one face down on the bed with a pillow under his hips, and the other kneeling between his legs, whispering to him while he pours lube over his hand. Tyler imagines himself face down, with Jamie Benn kneeling between his legs, lubed up fingers between Tyler’s ass cheeks. Imagines Jamie’s soft voice whispering just like the boy on the screen, asking if that feels good, if Tyler likes it. The boy on his stomach moans, just like Tyler imagines he would do, and asks for more. He moans again, louder, when he gets what he asked for. The boy between his legs bends over and kisses down his back, tells him how good he looks, and Tyler thinks about Jamie’s big body leaned over him like that, doing and saying those things to him, and he comes all over his fist before the guy on the screen even gets his dick wet.

 

Tyler makes a mental note of the title of the video for future reference, then scrubs his browser history before he closes his lap top. He pulls his shirt off and uses it to clean up the mess on his hand and his shorts, tosses the shirt into the basket in the closet, and calls it a night.

 

+++

 

On Monday, the rosters are already posted outside the locker rooms when they show up for morning workout. Coach York is there, barking out a steady stream of orders, giving the same speech over and over as guys trickle in from the parking lot a few at a time.

 

“There are three lists – White, Silver and Green! Each list has instructions for how to proceed if your name is on that list. These instructions are clearly stated at the bottom of each list.

 _“Before! You! Dress! Out!_ Locate your name on the lists and then _move aside_ ; now is not the time to be looking for your buddies’ names or any of that. Find _your name_ then proceed to follow the instructions for the list to which you have been assigned. Names are in alphabetical order on each list. This is not rocket science, gentlemen! Do not make it more difficult than it needs to be!

 

“Every athlete that worked out with us at Saturday afternoon practice _is_ on one of these three lists. _Do_ _not_ come and tell me you can’t find your name, and _do_ _not_ come and ask me where you should be going or what you should be doing. Listen, read, and follow instructions!”

 

Tyler’s hands are clammy, his heart racing as he pushes his way into the throng around the lists, trying to read over shoulders and between heads. The first thing he sees is _Benn, Jamie_ and _Benn, Jordie,_ the third and fourth names at the top of the Green list, so obviously that’s Varsity. He can’t see down far enough to read the S’s until the guy in front of him finally fucking _moves_ , then he scans down fast and sees – no Seguin. He double and then triple checks, but -.

 

Fuck.

 

He sees the names of most of the guys he’s been working out with in the White List. The J.V., presumably, but no Seguin there either, even after he _quadruple_ checks.

 

Tyler’s mouth goes dry.

 

The Silver list only has about 15 names on it, and there he is. His instructions say not to dress out, and to see Coach Ruff at his office immediately.

_Fuuuuuck_.

 

Coach Ruff is the head coach; Tyler knows him by reputation only, from the way people talk about him in whispered, reverent tones like he’s a goddamn God, and by sight, from where he’s been pointed out to Tyler over the course of the last few weeks, in those same hushed tones, like – look, but don’t _look_.

From what Tyler’s seen, Coach Ruff has spent his time during two-a-days on the sidelines behind a low brim and dark glasses, silently appraising for the most part, or barking orders at the returning Varsity guys on occasion.

 

Tyler has yet to be spoken to or directly coached by him, and he really, really does not want to start now. He takes a deep breath, curls his hands into fists to keep them from shaking, and heads down the hallway toward the coaches’ offices.

 

There are already 4 or 5 guys standing against the wall, all looking just like Tyler feels. When the door swings open, his stomach flips over with fear. A guy Tyler’s been working out with on the J.V., a kid he knows is also an out of state transfer, a Junior Tight End named Peverley, is coming out of the office.

Tyler catches his eye, and Peverley sort of shrugs noncommittally with his eyebrows raised, like Tyler’s supposed to know what the fuck that means.

 

“Who’s next?” Ruff barks, and the kid closest to the door raises his hand weakly and is ushered inside, then the door closes again.

 

“What the fuck?” Tyler immediately hisses at Peverley, who motions for Tyler to follow him a little ways down the hall.

 

“Varsity,” Peverley says under his breath, and shrugs again. “They just wanted to talk to me about the culture or whatever? And like, how Varsity is stacked and I might not get that much playing time and depending on how things go I might move back and forth to the J.V. some, to make sure I get some game minutes in over the course of the season. That kinda thing.”

 

“I’m sure that’s what it’ll be for you too, man – no way they’re straight up cutting you.” He reaches out and taps his fist against Tyler’s shoulder. “Gotta go change – good luck!”

 

He jogs off down the hall, and Tyler breathes out slow.

 

He tries not to chew all his fingernails off while he waits in the line outside Ruff’s office.

 

“Mr. Seguin,” Coach Ruff says when Tyler’s finally seated in a green plastic chair across the desk from him, “we’ve seen solid stuff from you the last few weeks.”

 

He picks up his tablet and reads aloud from the Hudl notes: “Says here, ’Good athleticism, quick off the line, great first step, soft hands, precise route running, knows how to hold onto the ball, high compete level.’ Your coaches have liked what they’ve seen of your skills set as well as your work ethic. Overall we’ve been very happy with your performance.”

 

Tyler swallows; his heart flutters hopefully.

 

“Thanks, Coach,” is all he can force out. Coach is chewing on a toothpick, leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed at Tyler like he’s trying to read his mind, and Tyler’s got a bad feeling that’s not the end of the meeting.

 

“Thing is, we don’t normally get a player of your caliber, turns up out of the blue. If an athlete with your talent is about to land on my doorstep, you can bet your ass I’m gonna get a call from the program he’s leaving, to let me know what a lucky son of a bitch I am.”

 

After a beat of silence, Tyler assumes he’s supposed to respond.

 

“It was kind of last minute, me moving down here,” he tries weakly. “I don’t - . I mean, I’m pretty sure my old coach didn’t know anything about it.”

 

“Well, we managed to get a-hold of Coach Julien.”

 

Tyler feels the blood drain from his face as Coach Ruff goes on. How would they even - ? They must have, fuck, _googled_ him or something? They must have asked about him in the office, gotten his transcript or whatever, and tracked down - . Oh, God.

 

“He was happy to talk to us about you, told us what an asset you were on the field, that you were a key piece of his team’s success last year. _But_.”

 

There’s another loaded pause, and Tyler holds his breath and tries to talk himself down from the heart attack he feels coming on.

 

He’s pretty sure Coach Julien didn’t hate him or anything, even if they sometimes had their differences. Even if Tyler sometimes lost his temper and had to run laps or do extra pushups or crunches - lots of guys did. Even if Tyler probably partied too hard and sometimes came to practice not quite at his best – he wasn’t the only one. Even if Tyler wasn’t the greatest student and sometimes didn’t take school as seriously as he should have – there were guys with worse grades.

 

Coach didn’t hate him or anything, before he was kicked out of SJP.

 

Of course, then he got _kicked out,_ and all. Or, technically, had his scholarship revoked and was politely but firmly disinvited from returning, _whatever_. The result was the same, either way.

 

So how Coach Julien might feel about him after that, it’s kinda hard to say.

 

All Tyler knows for sure is that he’s about to puke right on the carpet next to Coach Ruff’s desk, but Coach just keeps talking, doesn’t even let Tyler try to catch his breath first.

 

“He also indicated that there were some issues. He mentioned academic troubles, behavioral problems, lapses in discipline. Would you say that’s a fair assessment?”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Tyler nods as meekly as he can. He’s acutely aware that now is not the time to make explanations that would just sound like excuses.

 

“He did say that there may have been some problems at home that contributed to the situation. Would that also be fair to say?”

 

If Tyler could melt into the floor, he would. Part of him wants to scream _that’s none of your fucking business_ , wants to storm out and never look back, just - fuck football, fuck Texas, fuck all this.

 

But another, bigger part of him feels like football is all he has left, the only good thing he might still get to keep after the shit show of the last year, and the loudest voice in his head is not the one that’s screaming _fuck this guy_ , but the one that’s screaming _don’t fuck this up, Tyler._

 

So he grits his teeth, looks at the ground, and whispers a barely audible _Yes, Sir._

 

“I’ve got no interest in digging into your personal business, son,” Coach Ruff says, and his voice is a little quieter, less accusatory and more. Fatherly, Tyler would guess, or what he imagines a father might sound like if he maybe wasn’t a complete and total asshole all the time and actually gave a shit about someone other than himself for once.

 

Not like Tyler would know anything about _that._

 

Anyway, if the softer tone is a move to get Tyler to look up, to meet his eyes, it works.

 

“I understand you’re living with your Grandparents now, and I have to assume that’s come about as a result of those circumstances. The nature of your family situation is none of my business, but how it might impact you, and in turn how it might impact my team if you’re on it, I’ve got to make that my business. You understand what I’m saying?”

 

Tyler’s doing all he can to keep the pressure behind his eyes from turning into tears, so he breathes through his nose and bites the inside of his cheek and nods his head, and hopes that might be good enough.

 

Coach Ruff nods back, affirmative, and doesn’t make any snarky comments about _addressing your coaching staff with respect_ or whatever, just this once.

 

“So here’s where things stand. As I said, we’ve been pleased with what we’ve seen from you so far. You’ve heard us preaching for the last few weeks, _you get out what you put in_. That’s one of the building blocks of our culture here. The way I see it, you’ve put in the work, you’ve shown you belong here, and you’ve earned an opportunity to contribute to this football team. I expect you to make the most of it. And if you’re having a problem, that’s what your coaching staff is here for. My door is always open, son, but my patience for bullshit is short. You’d do well to remember that.”

 

And there’s no fucking way, after all this, that this dude is saying Tyler gets to be on the team, but. But _he’s saying Tyler gets to be on the team._

Tyler manages to croak out one last _Yes, Sir_ , and Coach Ruff stands, holds out his hand. Tyler’s up out of his chair in a hot second, shaking it.

 

“Congratulations, Mr. Seguin. Go clear your gear out of your temp locker, then see Coach Frederick in the Varsity locker room, he’ll get you situated.”

 

And all Tyler can think is _you belong here_. That’s what Coach Ruff said, and that’s all Tyler thinks on the way down the hall from Coach’s office, all he thinks as he’s gathering up all his equipment and slamming the door on that empty locker in the Visitor’s locker room, all he thinks as he’s rounding the corner into the Varsity locker room, arms full and head down, and almost smacks into Jamie fucking Benn.

 

Because, of course.

 

“Heeeey,” Jordie’s right behind Jamie, and he grins at Tyler, “look who made it to The Show! Welcome to the Big Time, Rook.”

 

Jamie smiles too, that bashful little barely there thing that makes Tyler’s stomach flip over.

 

“Nice,” is all he says, and juts his chin up at Tyler as he passes. “Congrats.”

 

Tyler manages to mumble something like _yeah_ and _sure_ and _thanks, man_ , then keeps on walking. He has a crazy feeling like he needs to get everything settled asap, get a locker with his name on it and a jersey with his number on it and a green helmet with a big white star, get his equipment stowed and his new varsity workout gear on as fast as he can, before anyone has a chance to take it all back, to change their mind about him.

 

“Nineteen’s taken,” Coach Frederick tells him, when he requests it, “what’s your next choice?”

Tyler’s always worn 19, since he was a kid. He has no idea what his next choice is. He stares at Coach Frederick like a deer in headlights.

 

“Uh,” he says dumbly.

 

“I’ve got 91,” Coach Frederick says, and when Tyler’s eyebrows go up.

 

“For a receiver, Coach?”

 

Frederick just shrugs, says there’s no rule against it, so Tyler shrugs back, and that’s that.

 

“91 it is.”

 

Frederick starts slinging a boatload of clothes and shoes and gear at Tyler, all sparkling new and top of the line, all emblazoned with giant stars or _Mean Green_ or _Stonebridge_ logos or his new number, or some combination of those.

 

“Welcome to the team, 9-1,” Coach Frederick says, once Tyler’s so loaded down he doesn’t think he could hold anymore. “We’re in our Greys today, no pads. Suit up and get your ass to the field.”

 

Tyler sorts through the piles of clothes and equipment and finds an undershirt and a jock and compression shorts. He finds two matching green socks and laces up brand new cleats. He pulls on his team-issue grey shorts with the white star on the thigh, the grey practice jersey with STONEBRIDGE across the chest, and grabs the coveted green helmet. He shoves everything else into his new locker, the one with his name written on Athletic tape above the door, and manages to get it closed, spins the lock for good measure. He stops, just for a second, to stare at the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the wall at the end of the room, at this new version of himself. At the big, bright white 91 emblazoned across his torso, outlined in green.

 

He breathes deep and reminds his reflection, _you belong here._

 

+++

 

That whole _everything’s bigger in Texas_ thing is just a dumb cliché, Tyler knows, but it’s also kinda crazy how often it seems to be true.

 

It’s not just the size of the stadium, or the practice facilities, not just the size of the guys on his team, some of whom are legit huge for all that they’re still teenagers, or the size of the coaching staff, although seriously there are like 20 of them, what the fuck?

 

It’s not just the size of the house he lives in, or the acres of land it’s on, or the truck his grandpa drives, or the truck his _grandma_ drives. It’s not just the soaring, tangled webs of freeway interchanges that seem to be everywhere, or even the size of the WalMart where his grandma goes to buy groceries, which is just, like, beyond insane.

 

Everything feels giant and sprawling, from the neighborhoods of enormous houses that all look the same to Tyler, to the shopping centers full of huge stores and huge restaurants and multi-plex movie theaters, and the endless parking lots that seem to surround them.

 

Sometimes after practice in the evenings, Tyler goes for a dip in the pool his grandparents, like seemingly everyone else in the surrounding patchwork of the Dallas suburbs, have in the backyard. After he’s cooled off, washed himself clean of the August heat and the sweat that goes with it, he’ll lie back in one of the lounge chairs next to the pool, and watch the sunset over the trees. The sky is giant and sprawling, too, and it makes Tyler feel small, and a little lonely, maybe. The sunsets are full of wild bursts of bright color and beautiful soft, faded light, and Tyler watches them sometimes, and feels every mile between Dallas and Boston, like a weight sitting right in the middle of his chest.

 

Stonebridge High School itself, which kinda looks and feels to Tyler like a shopping mall, if he’s honest, is the latest thing to throw him a little with its hugeness. Everything’s in one big building and every hallway pretty much looks the same, and the number of hallways seems endless.

 

He remembers being awed by SJP at first, but for completely different reasons. The venerable New England boys’ school was exactly what Tyler expected, but still so different from his neighborhood school back in Somerville – affectionately known as _Slummerville_ to the locals - that he’d been a little star-struck. The leafy, well-manicured campus with its hundred-year-old gothic buildings and stained-glass windows, with its proudly held Xaverian ideals and its lofty standards for itself and its students, made him feel like he was part of a brotherhood stretching back over the generations.

 

His first morning at Stonebridge makes him feel like he’s lost in a sea of 4,500 other kids just as confused and aimless as he is, racing from hall to hall and class to class, trying to beat the bell.

 

There are 4 different lunch periods and you only get half an hour, like seriously what the fuck? Tyler’s assigned lunch is during C Block, which means he has part of his 3rd period class before lunch and then has to come back for the rest of it later. That’s fucked up enough, but according to the map he’s not even sure he could get from his 3rd period classroom, all the way to the lunch room, and back in 30 minutes, much less find time in between to figure out how the cafeteria works, sit down and eat.

 

And anyway, he doesn’t know where he’d sit, or who he’d sit with.

 

So instead he just goes into the very conveniently and centrally located Media Center and sits among the library books in silence. It’s nice, actually, calming after the stress of the morning, and anyway he always has a few protein bars in his backpack, so it’s fine. He watches the clock and remembers that by the time 3rd period is over, there’s only one more class, then he gets to go play football.

 

+++

 

The first Friday night after school starts, they ride in 3 packed busses for an hour and a half across the never-ending suburban landscape, in the perpetual Dallas traffic, to scrimmage a team from someplace called Southlake Carroll High School.

 

It’s another local football powerhouse, with a stadium that would be completely insane if Tyler hadn’t already gotten desensitized by Stonebridge Stadium.

 

He’s not sure what to expect, but he gets on the field a lot, plays a majority of the downs, even, and gets a few catches. Mostly short routes, little Quick-outs and Slants, but he catches 100% of his balls, has 32 receiving yards, and feels pretty good in the end.

 

On Saturday they have morning practice, but that’s it, two-a-days are over and Tyler’s got the rest of the weekend to do nothing but sleep, which is what he does.

 

Well, and he also pulls up that porn vid, _Boyfriends fucking in dorm room_ , while his grandparents are at church on Sunday morning. He makes it farther than last time, gets to see the boy on top push his fingers, then his cock into the boy on the bottom, deliberate and steady, whispering the whole time to make sure his boyfriend is okay, asking if it feels good, and Tyler thinks some more about Jamie Benn. He imagines that’s just how Jamie would be, soft and quiet about it, slow and careful, wanting it to be good for Tyler, too, and it makes Tyler _ache_ , thinking about it. Imagining Jamie on top of him, inside of him, kissing the back of his neck and his shoulders while he rolls his hips with all the power in that big body, grinding into Tyler so deep but so gentle and easy, too, and _God_ , it makes him come so hard he can’t move for a few minutes after, is fucking lucky he’s home alone and doesn’t have to rush to clean up the scene of the crime.

 

But otherwise, he mostly just sleeps.

 

+++

 

The second Friday after school starts is their first actual game. It’s not a conference game – or rather a _District_ game, as Tyler quickly learns they call it here - but it’s still a real game, and guys are fucking pumped. They wear their game day jerseys to class, which is crazy enough, but then there’s a giant pep-rally in the giant gym, with the giant band playing and a giant squad of cheerleaders screaming. They’re all paraded out onto the gym floor for the whole student body to scream and cheer for, and Garbutt and Daley and Goligoski and Big Benn all address the crowd, as Senior Captains.

 

Tyler’s locker is decorated with posters and streamers and signs, by whom he has no fucking idea, and everywhere he goes, he’s suddenly no longer invisible like he’s been for the first two weeks of school. People are telling him good luck, holding out hands and fists for him to slap and bump, acting like they know who he is or something, which is, yeah. Weird as hell.

 

As soon as 4th period is over they pack up their shit and then it’s another hour and a half drive across what they call _The Metroplex_ , this time with 6 busses full of players and cheerleaders and dance teams and flag corps and the whole fucking Marching Band, to a place called Richland High School.

 

They walk down to the field at what is, at this point, kind of a let-down of a stadium. They’re corralled in this inflatable tunnel just beyond the end zone, then sent out through a giant inflatable Star with fucking strobe lights and smoke effects, down a gauntlet of screaming cheerleaders while guys with giant flags run along side them, spelling out S-T-O-N-E-B-R-I-D-G-E S-T-A-R-S and M-E-A-N G-R-E-E-N.

 

Just as they start their warmups the home team comes running out of their own air tunnel, and Tyler thinks nothing at all of seeing _Rebels_ across the front of their jerseys, until suddenly some dudes are running down the track with a giant Confederate flag flying, whipping the home crowd into a frenzy.

 

“What. The actual fuck,” Tyler hisses under his breath to no one in particular.

 

“Now you _know_ you’re not in Boston anymore, huh,” Roussel, who happens to be standing next to him, grins. “Kinda crazy, right?”

 

And Tyler can think of a few other words for all of this, but sure, crazy works.

 

He gets no balls in the first half, but at halftime Jamie bumps his shoulder and nods at him.

 

“I’m gonna get you, 9-1. Keep your eyes open.”

 

Tyler goes all blushing and stupid as usual when Jamie speaks to him - maybe something to do with all the filthy shit they do together in Tyler’s jerkoff fantasies, who can say? – but he manages to meet Jamie’s eyes, and nod.

 

“For sure.”

 

The Stars are up 28 to 7; not like Tyler’s gonna complain about not getting his hands on the ball.

 

In the second half they switch up coverage to try and stop Eakin, and suddenly Tyler’s got some breathing room. He catches 4 passes on one drive, then Jamie hits him on a little Hitch right in the front corner of the End Zone, and that’s it, his first TD. The guys with the flags fire up the air-raid siren, just like every time the Stars score on a passing play, and the PA announcer calls him Tyler Suh-GEEN, but Tyler barely notices. The guys jostle him around on the way back to the sideline, and Jamie taps his helmet.

 

“Keep givin’ me a target, 91,” he says, and this time Tyler’s too hopped up on adrenaline to turn bashful.

 

“Fuck yeah I will,” he crows, “all damn day!”

 

He can see Jamie’s grin behind his facemask, adorable as hell, and he suddenly, _desperately_ wants to keep giving Jamie reasons to smile like that.

 

They blow out the fucking _Rebs_ 42-13, and the bus on the way home is crazy and raucous, everybody pumped and laughing. They’ve got practice tomorrow morning but then it’s a long weekend, no school until Tuesday because of Labor Day, and coach is giving them Monday off, too.

 

“Hey T-Sizzle,” Eakin has the locker next to Tyler, and when they’re all back getting their shit together after the game, he knocks into Tyler’s shoulder. “You wakeboard? We’re taking the boat out this weekend if you wanna come hang.”

 

And no, Tyler very much does not wakeboard, like where the hell would he have ever known someone with a _boat_ before? But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t fucking love to try.

 

“Never been, but I’m sure I’ll still be better than you, 2-0.”

“Oooh, big talk from the Rook,” Dillon says from the other side of Eakin. “One TD and he thinks he’s the shit now,” and Tyler just grins.

 

“We’ll see about that, asshole,” Eakin rolls his eyes. “I’ll text you.”

 

On the ride home, Tyler’s Grandparents are excited, _proud_ even maybe, full of stories about the parents in the stands at the game being so impressed with Tyler’s play, and even though he knows his family follows Stonebridge football every season, he feels a little flicker of pride that they drove all that way out to watch his game, his Grandparents and his Aunt Jess and Uncle Mike and his two little cousins, too, and he actually did something to make it worth their time.

 

When he mentions that he might be going out with some teammates on Labor Day, he sees them exchange a _look_ , like maybe they’re, whatever – pleased, or something.

 

Like maybe Tyler’s starting to convince them that he’s not going to be the giant fuck-up everyone was afraid he would be.

 

Maybe he’s even starting to convince himself.

 

+++

 

Eakin texts Sunday asking if Tyler needs a ride, and he says that would be cool. He won’t have a driver’s license until January, and he hates having to ask his Grandparents for rides everywhere, like it’s not already enough of an imposition that he’s living in their house, eating their food and just generally inconveniencing them and whatever.

 

He gets a Facetime from Eakin on Monday, and all Tyler can hear is a bunch of yelling and laughing and all he can see are flashes of a knee then a snapback and then the gear shift of a car, then finally he hears

 _Hey_ sort of loud and serious, and then Jamie fucking Benn’s face is on Tyler’s phone.

 

“Hey, man, we’re outside,” Jamie says, directly into the camera, then he’s gone.

 

And Tyler was, just - not prepared to spend a day on a boat with Jamie fucking Benn, like at all, but it looks like that’s what he’s doing. He’s torn between excited about getting to spend the day with half naked, potentially wet and/or oiled-up Jamie, and half petrified because, you know, boners.

 

He wishes he had enough time to jerk off real fast, to take the edge off.

 

Instead all he has time to do is tell his Grandma goodbye and that he’ll text her to let her know when he’ll be home, then he grabs his backpack and heads out the front door. He’ll just have to hope the lake water is really cold.

 

His Grandpa is on the riding lawnmower, and waves as Tyler climbs into an old Ford Bronco that’s jacked up ridiculously high. Big Benn is driving, Jamie is in the passenger seat, and Eakin and Daley are in the back. They squish over to make room for Tyler, and once he’s up, Tyler waves back at his Grandpa.

 

“Is that your dad?” Eakin asks, as he waves, too.

 

“My Grandpa.”

 

“Oh, does he live with you?

 

Tyler feels his ears burn. It’s so dumb, it’s not like there should be anything embarrassing or bad implied by the fact that he lives with his Grandparents, it’s just. It’s not _expected,_ not _normal_. It’s a thing that might have be explained, and he doesn’t want to explain it. That’s all.

 

“No, I live with him,” is all he says, but Eakin just says _cool,_ and no one asks anything else about it.

 

They pull into a Marina at something called Lake Lavon, and Eakin goes inside to check in or whatever, then they walk down to a boat slip and there’s a giant – of course – boat there, that apparently belongs to Eakin’s family.

 

They bring about 10 tons of shit aboard, coolers full of ice and drinks and food, wakeboards and innertubes and lifejackets and bags full of sunscreen and beach towels. Tyler has a change of clothes, some sunscreen and a few protein bars in his backpack, and suddenly he feels woefully underprepared.

 

A few other guys meet them down at the Marina, Dillon and Garbutt and Goligoski and Roussel, and once they’re all loaded up and out on the water, some of them break out the beer. Tyler feels kind of nervous about saying no thanks, he’s still the new guy here and he needs to keep proving he knows how to be part of the team, but Jamie and Eakin both stick to soda, too, so Tyler doesn’t feel so bad.

 

Things are just going so well, at home and at school and with the team, he doesn’t want to fuck it up over a fucking beer or two.

 

They teach him how to wakeboard, laugh at him when he faceplants into the wake and cheer for him when he finally manages to ride across it and stay standing on the other side. Some of the guys can do actual tricks, catching air and grabbing the board and shit like that, but mostly they just ride, not much better than Tyler really. Eakin lets Jamie drive just long enough that he can take a turn in the water, but otherwise he stays behind the wheel and doesn’t drink at all.

 

“My dad makes me promise, like, for real, if I want to bring the guys out and not have any adults around,” he tells Tyler late in the afternoon as he hands over a Sprite. Most of the guys are in the water, floating around on noodles and innertubes, pretty drunk and stupid at this point. Eakin and Tyler and Jamie are still on the boat, up front where the sun is, lounging on the bench seats, shirts off and shades on. Tyler’s trying hard not to look directly at Jamie, like he’s the sun or something.

 

“Chubbs is always my second, so he doesn’t drink either,” Eakin nods, and raises his Coke to Jamie, who raises his bottle of water right back. “Otherwise you can’t trust any of these fucking morons to stay sober long enough to do shit.”

 

“Facts,” Jamie pipes up, and Tyler grins.

 

“What about you, though?” Eakin looks over his shades at Tyler. “Is it like, a religious thing, or something - like, no drinking or whatever?”

 

And Tyler has definitely noticed that there is an almost shockingly high percentage of his team that are, like, Super Christians. Not like the half-assed Catholics at SJP, and anyway, Catholics never have a problem with booze. But down here, a lot of guys are genuine, professed, no swearing-no sex-no booze, Jesus is my Homeboy and I’d like to talk to you about Him, not just because my parents make me, but for real-real _Christian_ Christians, which has been.

 

Eye opening.

 

Tyler thinks briefly about claiming the religious thing, since that seems to be perfectly cool here, but he doesn’t think he could make it fly. So he just says,

 

“Nah, I just. I’m trying not to get into any trouble with my Grandparents. They’re kinda doing me a favor letting me live with them and all, so.”

 

Tyler shrugs and looks down at the guys in the water, hoping that’s the end of it. From the corner of his eye he can see Eakin open his mouth to ask something else, then he sees Jamie nudge Eakin’s knee with his toe, and Eakin’s mouth snaps closed.

 

“Cool,” is all he says, and takes another sip of his Coke.

 

+++

 

They play their first home game on Friday night, and shit is even more bananas than Tyler expected. There’s the whole pep rally, locker decoration, celebrity status in the hallways thing happening again. People start to say hi to him as he’s passing from class to class, and they use his actual name.

 

It’s the first time Tyler gets weird looks in the Media Center at lunch, like the other kids he’s gotten used to sharing the space with during C Block see him in his home white jersey and are suddenly wondering what the hell he’s doing there.

 

Tyler still doesn’t mind hanging in the Media Center for lunch; he’s been getting his homework done almost entirely at school, which is awesome, and on days where he’s done early he’s started looking at old Stonebridge Year Books to pass the time. He’s gone all the way back to the 70’s, seen his Grandpa with shaggy hair under his helmet, listed as a Running Back, his Grandma with long braids and freckles in her cheerleading outfit, back when Stonebridge was still just a farm town 30 miles from Dallas, graduating 50 or 60 kids every year. Sometime in the mid 80’s, Coach Ruff showed up as a Freshman Football assistant, a young guy with a bushy moustache and and some uncomfortably short, tight coaching shorts. Tyler’s looked through all of his mom’s yearbooks from the late 90’s, and learned his Aunt Jess was apparently an All-State sprinter and hurdler as a Senior in ’03. Tyler’s always been lead to believe that any athletic ability he has came from his dad, so it makes him happy to know that maybe his speed came straight from the Taylors, maybe his dad had nothing to do with it after all.

 

But of all of them, his undisputed favorite is the ’11-’12 Year Book. Jamie Benn’s soft, round baby face and long, terrible hair as a Freshman is just almost too much for Tyler to take, and he’s not ashamed to admit there are some days all he does during his lunch break is flip back and forth from the page with Jamie’s school picture to the page with Jamie’s football picture to the page with the J.V. team photo to the page with the action shot of Jamie passing the ball.

 

Okay fine, he’s a little ashamed, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna stop doing it.

 

The game that night is part of something called The Tom Landry Classic. Tyler knows who Tom Landry is – duh – but he’s still not totally sure he gets what that has to do with the game, other than it’s sponsored by some charity and is supposed to honor teams that show greatness both academically and athletically. Tom Landry’s son brings out the game ball for the coin toss, and the stands are fucking packed.

 

They win in another blow-out, beating Frisco Centennial 47 to 6. Tyler gets 6 catches for almost 80 yards, but no TDs, about which he tries hard not to be disappointed.

 

“Sorry I couldn’t put you in the End Zone, 9-1,” Jamie thumps his helmet as they’re jogging up the ramp back to the Locker Rooms. “I got you next game.”

 

It makes Tyler feel a little better, even though that’s stupid. Jamie did his job perfectly, which is to make sure the Stars win, not to make sure he spreads the scoring around equally to keep all his backs and receivers from getting butthurt and shit.

 

But still, it’s nice to be remembered.

 

It’s also nice to be invited to hang on Saturday afternoon at the Benn house, which is smaller than a lot of the houses around, but with both brothers on the team and Big Benn being a captain, it seems inevitable that’s where people would wind up.

 

Mr. and Mrs. Benn both seem perfectly happy to have them all take over the whole kitchen-living-dining room situation for an NCAA 14 tournament, happy to make themselves scarce in another part of the house and pretend not to hear the cursing and name calling and generally crude, rowdy obnoxiousness.

 

Tyler only peeks for a minute into Jamie’s room on his way to the bathroom, only knows for sure it’s Jamie’s by the number 14 jerseys tacked to the walls along with all the posters and the shelves full of trophies. He only allows himself a fleeting look, just long enough to take note of the queen size bed with its green and black and tan plaid comforter, tan sheets exposed where Jamie’s left his bed unmade, then he files it away for later, when he’s alone and can take his time fantasizing about Jamie pressing him down into those sheets without fear of humiliating himself publicly.

 

In the hall are a bunch of baby pictures of Jamie and Jordie and their older sister, who’s off at college at OU. There’s a row of family photos featuring big smiles and matching outfits and the whole thing, all the way from pictures of Mr. and Mrs. Benn in their younger days, just the two of them with their 80’s hair and their hilarious outfits, looking just as happy together even before they had kids, right up to the most recent with all the Benns looking pretty much like they do now. It makes Tyler’s throat feel tight, for reasons he really can’t explain.

 

“You better not be perving on my sister’s pictures, Rook!” Jordie starts into the hall just as Tyler’s headed back out.

 

Tyler pauses awkwardly as everyone in the room looks over, hooting and cat calling, and shit, he’s usually better at rolling with the punches on stuff like this. He scrambles to cover.

 

“Nah, not my type,” is what he goes for, giving a leering grin to go with it, knowing that will get a rise out of the peanut gallery, leave all the guys oohing and aahing over the backhanded insult. Big Benn gives him a good-natured slap to the head as he passes, and guys jostle him around as he makes his way back to force himself in between Roussel and Dillon on the giant sectional couch.

 

When he looks up, Jamie’s looking right at him, not pissed or anything, just – appraising, maybe.

It sends a weird jolt of electricity down Tyler’s spine.

 

+++

 

Game 3 of the season is another home game, the last non-district game so the last one that doesn’t really count, except for how it does. They’re the number 1 High School team in Texas, and they’re hosting the number 1 High School team in Alabama, live on ESPNU for fuck’s sake.

 

Tyler’s been annoying all his boys back in Boston with texts reminding them of this for weeks, just to make sure they’re appropriately jealous.

 

“I don’t have to tell you what this game means, gentlemen,” Coach Ruff yells just before they head down to the field. “This isn’t just your chance to showcase your talents in front of a national audience and a whole mess of college scouts, this is for _bragging rights_. Now let’s go show these Alabama sons-of-bitches what Texas football is all about!”

 

It sounds like a speech from a movie, but it works like a charm on Tyler. He’s fucking pumped, almost jumping out of his skin as he runs through the Star and the smoke and the lights and out onto the field.

 

He’s so nervous he doesn’t even see the Corner coming on his first catch, gets blown the hell up and drops the ball, then lays there on the turf trying to catch his breath. He’s never been hit that hard in his fucking life, and it gets him rattled.

 

He’s so focused on the defense the next few downs, he doesn’t even spare a look at his QB, but as they line up for the next one, Jamie barks _show me your eyes, 9-1!_ and its enough to snap Tyler out of his tunnel vision. He gives Jamie a nod, a raised eyebrow and Jamie nods back, and Tyler suddenly just _knows_. They both see the Corner cheating up to the line, and they’re gonna burn him, _right fucking now_.

 

They totally do, and then.

 

Holy shit. _Then_.

 

Jamie just keeps finding him.

 

He busts loose for a 45 yarder in the 2nd quarter, and boom, just like that they’re at 1st and Goal and Jamie’s making eye contact at the line and Tyler knows he’s gonna get it again, this time in the End Zone.

 

And he does.

 

He breaks off another 30 yarder in the 3rd, and by the end of three quarters they’re up 45 to 20 and Tyler’s not sure about his stats exactly, but he’s pretty sure he’s got to have over 100 receiving yards. When they head out for the first offensive possession of the 4th, he knocks his shoulder pads into Jamie’s.

 

“33’s still crowding me.”

 

Jamie grins.

 

“He rocked you that one time, he thinks he can get you again.”

 

“Right, but he can’t,” Tyler nods, and grins back, maybe just a little cocky, if he’s honest. “I say we run that Go on him, see how he does with that.”

 

Jamie just snorts and shakes his head.

 

“Oh you do, huh? Get your ass lined up and we’ll see, Rook.” He smacks Tyler on the ass, and Tyler cackles back as he jogs out to his spot on the sideline.

 

Jamie doesn’t call a Go route for him that series, and he sits out the next, then they’re too close to their own End Zone and it wouldn’t work anyway. Eakin scores, and Tyler jumps at him and cracks their helmets together when he gets back to the sideline.

 

The Hoover team scores again against the Stars’ third string defense, and it’s 52 to 28 with 5 minutes left and Tyler’s sure Jamie’s not going to go back in, but Coach sends them both back out. On the Stonebridge 32, second and four, Jamie calls out before the snap,

 

“Green Motion Pull 9-2-3 Flash!”

 

That 9 is a Go for Tyler, and he angles in, lets that dumb fucking Corner cheat even further up and inside, then on Jamie’s _Hut_ Tyler takes off on the straight Go, catches the Corner looking. He sees Jamie let it fly right as he crosses the 50, and it zips perfectly into his hands at the 25 or so. There’s nobody close to him, and the crowd goes crazy as Tyler runs it in and drops it on the turf, cool as the other side of the fucking pillow.

 

Jamie smacks him on the helmet and Eakin lifts him up off the ground yelling _Usaaaaaaaaaaain Boooooolt_ , and Tyler can’t remember the last time he felt this fucking _good._

 

There’s a party later that night at someone’s house Tyler definitely does not even know, but he gets dragged there with the guys. Everyone is raucous and drunk and loud and celebrating, the replay of the game running on the big screen TV, and Tyler wishes he could hear the announcers, wants to hear what they said about him when he scored. _Both times_ , thank you very much.

 

But it’s too loud, so he just sits in the corner with Jamie - only because they’re the only ones not drinking, okay, not because of, you know, any other reasons.

 

And they sit there and drink soda and watch the game and add their own narration, which turns out to be better than anything ESPN might have done, Tyler’s pretty sure. Tyler makes jokes and does funny voices and adds ridiculous commentary, and Jamie grins his tiny grin at first, then he starts to really laugh, and finally they both collapse into giggles on the couch.

 

It becomes clear after a while that Eakin, who was supposed to take Tyler home, is too drunk and stupid to drive, and so Jamie drives him home in the old Bronco, which might belong to Jordie or Jamie or both – Tyler’s still unclear – to make sure he’s home by his Midnight curfew.

 

“You going back to the party?” Tyler asks as he climbs out, but Jamie shakes his head.

 

“Not really that fun when you’re the only sober one,” he shrugs. Tyler never asked why Jamie wasn’t drinking tonight, but he assumes it has something to do with being a generally responsible and respectable person, unlike the rest of them.

 

“I’ll probably just go home, Jordie can figure his own shit out.”

 

And Tyler’s really not sure what possesses him, but it’s been like, one of the best nights of his life and he just doesn’t really want it to end yet, and he doesn’t even think before he blurts,

 

“I’ve got the game recorded, if you want to come in. Watch the real commentary, or whatever.”

 

Jamie looks surprised, and Tyler feels his ears burning and thanks God for the cover of darkness. He feels compelled to mumble _just if you feel like it_ like an idiot, as if that wasn’t already clear. As if Jamie fucking Benn, the five-star, Blue Chip recruit, starting quarterback for the Number 1 High School football team in the country, really wants to hang out with some Sophomore he’s only known for like a month or whatever. Tyler wishes the concrete of his Grandparents driveway would crack open and swallow him up.

 

But Jamie puts the truck in park, and shrugs.

 

“Yeah okay,” he says, and turns off the truck. “That sounds cool, if you’re sure your Grandparents won’t mind.”

 

 +++

 

Tyler is not, in fact, sure that his Grandparents won’t mind. His Grandma has told him before he could invite friends over if he wants, but he’s not sure she meant at midnight, unannounced.

 

But Jamie Benn has agreed to come inside his house, so he’s willing to risk it.

 

“Just try to be quiet, I’m sure they’re asleep,” Tyler whispers, and Jamie just nods and follows him along silently through the living room.

 

His Grandma left the light on over the kitchen sink, like every night, and Tyler stops for two Gatorades, which his Grandma has started keeping in the fridge just for him, and some Spicy Nacho Cheese Doritos, also just for him. His hands feel clammy and his face is on fire as he ushers Jamie into his bedroom.

 

“Sorry,” he says, “I just don’t want to wake them up, watching in the living room. I can stream it on my laptop if that’s cool.”

 

“Sure,” Jamie shrugs, and flops down on the bed, which Tyler is both ashamed and grateful to see that his Grandma must have made today, because he sure as hell didn’t make it himself. Jamie acts like all this is totally normal, leaning against the headboard and cracking open the Gatorade Tyler hands him, probably because to him, it is normal. After all, he’s not the one with the crush big enough to see from space.

 

Tyler tries not to fumble around too much setting up his laptop and logging into the cable provider so they can stream from the DVR. He does his best to mimic Jamie’s easy nonchalance, scooting onto the other side of the bed and leaning back against the wall. It’s so stupid, not like he’s never hung out with a dude that he’s jerked it to, before. This should be old hat, at this point, considering how much he used to hang out with Marchy and how many times Tyler used him as jerkoff material. And anyway it’s a Queen size bed, there’s plenty of room to put the laptop and some space between them. So he takes a slug of his Gatorade and pushes play on the game, then tugs open the chip bag and offers it to Jamie, all cool, like his heart isn’t even pounding and his stomach isn’t full of fluttering butterflies.

 

They watch, talking shit about the other team and laughing at some of the comments the announcers make, at some of the shots of kids in the stands holding funny signs about how Alabama is shitty and full of rednecks and incest and stuff.

 

Tyler thinks he might have said the same things about Texas a few months ago, but that was then, this is now.

 

And _now_ , Jamie’s next to him in his bed, laptop between them, sharing a bag of chips and giggling and also pausing the stream over and over to point out stuff Tyler missed, ways he could have played things differently and tells the coverage was giving him that he didn’t pick up on, areas of the field that were open if he’d only seen them and run his route a little differently. It’s actually really enlightening, like a little mini film session that’s focused just on Tyler instead of on the whole team. Except Jamie’s constructive criticism is delivered more as helpful suggestions, whereas Coach Ruff’s is delivered more like a thinly veiled threat that you better get your shit together or there will be unpleasant consequences.

 

They get into a long, in-depth discussion about whether or not Jamie should keep the ball more on the Zone Read, which Jamie humbly denies, even though Tyler points out several specific instances when it would have been the best option for the given situation. Jamie almost always gives it up, because he’s selfless to a fucking fault, but also because he doesn’t think he’s a good runner, which is just fucking _wrong_.

 

“Dude,” Tyler insists, incredulous, “you can run! You know better than to think it’s just about speed, and it’s not even like you’re slow. You’re smart, you can read the D like a crazy psychic or something, and you’ve got size and power, strength in your legs. You should definitely run more.”

 

When he finishes he realized Jamie has stopped objecting and is just listening, watching him with that little smile on his face, and Tyler thinks he might even be blushing.

 

“Thanks, man,” he says, and his voice is softer, less animated than it was 20 seconds ago. “Coach has been telling me that, but more like in a _gotta run once in awhile to keep the D honest_ kind of way, less because he thinks I’m actually good at it.”

 

“Well, you are. Good at it, I mean.” Jamie looks unsure, but pleased, and Tyler wants to encourage that at all costs. “You could be even better at it, if you did it more often. So maybe try that, huh?”

 

He nudges Jamie with his elbow, and Jamie grins at him, rolls his eyes, but nods.

 

“Yeah, maybe.”

 

By the time they finish the whole game, with all the starts and stops and lengthy discussion, it’s 3 a.m.

 

“You want to just stay over? Practice is in seven hours,” Tyler shrugs, yawning, too sleepy to be awkward about it.

 

Jamie just yawns right back.

 

“Yeah, ’s prolly easiest,” he drawls, and Tyler doesn’t usually think Jamie has much of a Texas accent, but occasionally it comes out really strong, like that. It’s probably for the best that Tyler is legit too exhausted to spend the mental energy thinking about how adorable it is.

 

They both shuck off their shirts and jeans, and slide under the comforter, easy as that.

 

And if he’d thought about it ahead of time, Tyler probably would have been anxious, worried he’d never be able to sleep or would get an embarrassing boner or something just from the general proximity of Jamie’s body to his. But the crash from the adrenaline high earlier is brutal and real, to say nothing of the exhaustion of a day where he got knocked around by the D, ran for 160 yards then stayed up until 3 in the morning. It must all hit him at once, because he’s asleep before he even gets the chance to freak out.

 

+++

 

Tyler wakes up in the morning to the sound of Jamie whispering.

 

“At Tyler’s,” he’s saying, and Tyler can hear Jordie’s voice clear as day through the phone speaker saying

_Who’s Tyler?_

 

Tyler stays perfectly still, fakes like he’s still asleep.

 

“Seguin,” Jamie whispers emphatically, exasperated, and Tyler hears the tinny response, _oooooohhhh shit, right, Seguin. Do I know his name is Tyler?_

 

“Yes, you definitely do, idiot,” Jamie whispers, and Tyler has to work not to smile. “I gave him a ride home last night and we ended up watching the game video until really late, so I just stayed. You need us to pick you up somewhere on the way to practice?”

 

There’s rustling and scraping through the speaker, and Tyler takes the opportunity to roll over and fake-yawn like he just woke up. He looks up, and Jamie immediately rolls his eyes, pointing at the phone and mouthing _Jordie._

_Daley, you got your car here man?_ Comes through the phone, followed by an unintelligible grunt, then, _Yeah, Daley can drive me. We’ll see you boys there. Don’t be late!_

 

“We’re not -,” Jamie huffs, but Jordie’s already gone. He shakes his head at his phone, and looks at Tyler.

 

“Like we’re gonna be late,” he huffs again. “Like I really need _Jordie_ to tell me not to be late, I’m so fucking sure.”

 

It’s the first time Tyler’s ever seen the Benn brothers display anything resembling typical sibling shit – usually it’s strictly business between them on the field, all _Way to work, Chubbs_ and _That’s how we do it, 2-4,_ and the few times Tyler has hung out with both of them outside football, they act just like any other guys, like friends who you’d never really know are also brothers unless someone told you.

 

So this glimpse of Jamie being the snarky, petulant baby brother is kind of endearing. Much like, as it turns out, Jamie in general first thing in the morning, looking all rumpled and soft with his fluffy hair and his bare shoulders and – yeah. Tyler should go take a shower like, now.

 

He sits up to slide out of bed, grabbing his phone off the nightstand just as it starts ringing.

 

It’s Brownie, of course, FaceTiming him. After the PR onslaught Tyler put his boys back home through for the last two weeks over his game last night, he guesses he owes it to Brownie to at least answer his call. He got quite a few texts and insta messages last night, but Brownie’s special, obviously.

 

He mumbles _sorry, one sec_ at Jamie then turns himself so all Brownie can see behind him is wall, before he swipes.

 

“Seggy!” Brownie crows at him right away, “Seggy-Segs, you’re a beast, kid! You beautiful two touchdown having motherfucker!”

 

Tyler would usually respond with some cocky retort about how Brownie should have expected it, etc., but with Jamie sitting there watching him he feels embarrassed.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes, grinning, “I’m pretty much big time now, so, ya know. But hey listen, I -.”

Brownie steamrolls right over Tyler’s attempts to cut the call off politely, keeps right on running his mouth.

 

“We were over at McConnell’s, you remember that kid lived down on Perkins? And they kept wanting to flip over to UFC but I was like hell _no_ , my wifey’s on at 8:30 and I gotta watch that shit! So right off the bat you got rocked by that big Corner and I was like, _oh, fuck!_ But then you just straight crushed it, kid! All the boys were jealous ‘cause you my bae and all.”

 

Oh, Jesus. Tyler feels his face heating up, he’s sure Jamie can see it.

 

“ _Brownie_ ,” Tyler not-quite-yells, because sometimes that’s what it takes to get Brownie to slow his roll and pay attention, “hey, thanks and everything, but can I hit you up later on? Sorry - I just, I’m on my way to practice and I don’t wanna be late or whatever.”

 

“Oh damn,” Brownie’s eyes go wide, “you got practice this morning, already? Fuckin’ brutal.”

 

“Yeah, it’s uh -.” He scratches the back of his neck, not sure what to say with Brownie and Jamie both watching and listing. “It’s pretty intense here, for sure. So uh, I’ll catch you later, right?”

 

“For sure, holla at me later on. Peace!”

 

Then he’s gone, and Tyler bites his lip as he locks his screen. When he looks up, Jamie’s talking before he can even try to explain.

 

“It’s cool your friends from Boston got to watch last night. Must suck moving so far away, huh?”

 

Tyler looks at Jamie, standing there in his boxers and bare chest, smiling that little barely-there smile, and finds himself thinking maybe it doesn’t suck that bad, after all.

 

“I don’t know,” he hears his own voice saying, “it was tough at first, but I guess it’s kinda getting easier now?”

 

“That’s good,” Jamie nods, and his smile stretches wider. “I’m really glad. I mean – y’know - . We’re all glad you’re here.”

 

Then his face gets pink, and he pulls his t-shirt over his head.

 

+++

 

Last summer, when Tyler 14, his neighbor Marissa’s cousin Luke was visiting from Philly, and he gave Tyler his first joint, and then his first hand job. Tyler totally went straight home and bragged about that shit to Brownie. When Brownie wanted all the dirty details, Tyler figured the best way to fully get the point across was to demonstrate. Brownie gulped and turned red, came on Tyler’s hand, then left his house and was weird for a few days before finally telling Tyler he wasn’t gay. Tyler had never _really_ thought he was, even if he had maybe kinda-sorta been hoping. But Brownie didn’t give a shit when Tyler said, just to be clear, that he definitely _is_ gay, so once they got past that little hiccup they resumed their friendship at their normal, suffocatingly co-dependent levels from there on.

 

He was in his second term at SJP when he got his second hand job. Not that maybe he couldn’t have

had one before, he figures, if he’d been paying attention, but for the most part his focus had been on football, not hooking up. But SJP was all boys, a powder keg full of stress, competition, and teenage testosterone. It was also heavy on the encouragement of male bonding, on stressing the importance of creating and relying on close relationships with your brothers, so it maybe wasn’t so shocking when Tyler finally realized there was kind of a lot of not-strictly-hetero _stuff_ going on amongst the student body. Not that it was _accepted_ , or anything, not like people were open about it, or that most of them were even actually gay, probably.

 

But people looked the other way, mostly, made jokes and laughed it off as raging boy hormones, just buddies helping each other out or whatever.

 

So by the time his lab partner followed him into the bathroom one day after school, in the middle of working on their mid-term project, mumbling about being too horny to concentrate on his work and asking Tyler _you wanna maybe?_ while nodding his head at a stall, Tyler wasn’t too surprised.

 

When he and Marchy made out the first time, drunk at a party, he wasn’t too surprised.

 

When they made out the second time, he _still_ wasn’t really surprised, even after Marchy had acted so fucking weird after the first time, pretending like he was too drunk to remember what happened when Tyler knew for sure he wasn’t.

 

Even when one of the blue-blood, 3rd generation legacy, crazy-rich-even-by-SJP-standards boys backed Tyler into a closet at the Fourth of July party he was throwing at his parents’ massive summer house on Cape Cod, Tyler still wasn’t too surprised.

 

And look, you best fucking believe that Tyler was always, _always_ aware of his role in the SJP social hierarchy, okay? It was made perfectly clear to him from day one that he was one of the scholarship kids that the richest, most entitled assholes in school liked to call _charity cases_ , just an outsider freeloading off the tuition payments and generous donations of his wealthy classmates’ families. Even worse, he wasn’t even an _academic_ charity case, one of those guys who was smart as shit and at the head of the class, but just happened to be poor. Nope – Tyler was at SJP on the strength of his athletic abilities alone. Even though the administration lamely insisted they didn’t give athletic scholarships, it was such bullshit, like anyone had ever believed Tyler could have gotten in any other way.

 

So no, Tyler and the kid whose last name was on the new wing of the Library didn’t exactly run in the same circles, weren’t exactly tight. But he was cute enough in a super-preppy sort of way, with his plaid shorts and his popped collar, blond and small and not Tyler’s type, exactly, but whatever. They were young and drunk and high and horny, and it was summer after all.

 

He was more surprised when the kid went immediately to his knees with a cocky little smirk, started whispering about having the biggest crush on Tyler all year, telling him how hot he was while he was pulling Tyler’s dick out of his shorts, nuzzling and licking it in a very _not_ Just Buddies kind of way. Even drunk and high, Tyler’s pretty sure he’s always going to remember _that_.

 

Tyler’s still not exactly sure what happened next, he just remembers the door got yanked open and there was a lot of laughing and yelling. The other kid got up off his knees and Tyler put his dick away, both of them a little embarrassed but laughing, too. They went back to the party and that was that, no harm done.

 

Except there was a picture, because of course there was. It got blasted to a group text, and God knows where all it ended up after that, but by the end of the next day Tyler’s mom had a call from the Headmaster, and two weeks later, Tyler was in Texas.

 

The blond kid with the popped collar and his name on the Library is, of course, still at SJP.

 

+++

 

The Stars win their first two District games, the fourth and fifth games of the season, both in blowout fashion. Tyler scores three times in two games, only drops one pass, and works his way into the top 250 in the Rivals list of top recruits at his position in the country. All in all, it’s been a good couple of weeks.

Right after they beat the crap out of Plano East for their second District win they have an off week in the schedule, which means there’s the usual practice all week but that’s it – Friday is just a normal day like any other day, and honestly, Tyler can’t help feeling a little relieved. August and September felt like a blur, like he hardly took a breath the whole time with everything happening, everything changing. And he’s riding a mental and emotional roller coaster every week, from the slow build of the pressure and expectations, day by day as the next week trudges slowly toward its inevitable conclusion, to the peak every Friday, the madhouse of the Pep Rally and the spotlight that he finds himself in just by wearing his jersey through the halls, the anticipation gnawing at him all day just like that moment when the roller coaster hangs just over the edge of the first big drop. The freefall starts with the chaos of sprinting onto the field through the smoke and the noise, and the thrill of actually doing the thing that makes it all worthwhile. The adrenaline spikes then levels out as the game goes on, but there always a crash that comes after, leaving him physically exhausted and emotionally wiped out.

 

And now he’s finally made it to October, and his team is five and 0, and he feels like maybe this weekend will be a chance for him to finally stop running so hard and actually catch his breath.

 

Even so, not like he’s some antisocial hermit, so he still lets the boys drag him out to a clearing in the trees out in the middle of nowhere, explained to him only as _Roussel’s uncle’s deer lease_ , whatever the fuck that means. There are probably a hundred kids out there, but Tyler spends the night on the tailgate of the Bronco with Jamie, drinking Gatorade and watching the bonfire that’s way too fucking big for a night this hot.

 

And Jesus, why is it still so hot in October?

 

They laugh at everyone dancing and singing, laugh at the guys trying to flirt with the girls, at everyone getting drunk and fucked up and stupid all around them. Tyler feels a tiny pang of wistfulness over not being one of the fools dancing around and sweating in the firelight, because honestly being a little drunk and a little fucked up is _fun_. But the whole being on his best behavior thing has been going well so far, and he’s always been superstitious. He’s not about to fuck with what’s working.

 

Also, his grandparents are a far cry from his mom, who always just let him get by with whatever bullshit line he handed her about where he was going and what he was doing – if she even asked, or bothered to check up on him at all - then got pissed off later when he forgot to call or just didn’t come home, or came home but ended up puking in the sink.

 

Things are a little different now, and Tyler’s got to be home at midnight or he’s pretty fucking sure his Grandpa would somehow manage to find his way to this random field and drag his ass home.

 

As always Jamie’s the only one sober enough to drive him, but at this point, it’s really nothing new.

 

Because they’ve actually become friends, is the thing – like legit friends, which is cool because Jamie is awesome, and easy to be around, and the kind of low-key funny you have to be quiet and kind of listen for, or you’ll miss it. And, because it’s good to have someone to hang with one on one, more on the chill side than the loud, rowdy atmosphere that’s inevitable when there’s a whole group of kids around.

 

When it’s just the two of them they can actually talk, not just talk shit, which is a nice break sometimes. Plus they’ve been watching lots of tape together and they’re playing great football, developing this awesome on-field chemistry that’s making Tyler into Jamie’s favorite receiver and Jamie into Tyler’s favorite – well, everything.

 

So, okay. So what if Tyler has to focus on the back of his locker and nowhere else every time they’re in the locker room, just to keep his eyes from landing on Jamie’s bare skin like a fucking magnet? Which is lame because it’s not even like Jamie’s body is so killer or whatever – like, he’s not nearly as shredded as some of the other guys on the team, including his own brother and including Tyler, thank you very much – but he’s just so _big_ and broad and solid and - Jamie. Yeah.

 

It’s definitely for the best that Tyler just doesn’t look. Like, at all, ever.

 

It’s also for the best to just ignore the way his stomach drops and his heart beats faster whenever Jamie smiles at him, or compliments him, or calls him Ty, which he totally does now, sometimes. And also to pretend for the other 23 hours and 50-odd minutes of every day that he doesn’t jerk off furiously every morning in the shower thinking about Jamie’s long fingers wrapped around his dick the same way they wrap around a football.

 

The drive to Tyler’s house is quiet, Jamie singing softly along to some country bullshit on the radio. Tyler recognizes the song, they played it at the party tonight about seven thousand times, everyone holding up their drinks and screaming along like idiots, _the moon comes up and the sun goes down / we find a little spot on the edge of town / twist off, sip a little, pass it around / dance in the dust, turn the radio up_.

Tyler hates it on principle because it’s country, even if he can’t help knowing the words by now.

 

Even if he can’t help that it sends a little shiver down his spine to hear Jamie whisper-singing in the moonlight, _I’m doin’ everything right / got the country boy charm turned all the way on tonight_.

 

Jamie just parks in the driveway and trails him inside without being asked, another thing that’s getting more and more normal, these days.

 

They end up flopped down on Tyler’s bed with no lights on, just the glow of their screens and of the night light through the open bathroom door, the two of them scrolling through their phones, laughing and talking about stupid shit on twitter and insta.

 

Tyler’s been doing his best to help distract Jamie from the pressure that’s piling up on his shoulders day by day, week by week. Because every week of the season, every win, is a step closer to defending their State Championship. But it’s also a step higher on a ladder that means they have that much further to go if they fall. And they’d all feel it, the whole team, if they did fall, but Jamie is the quarterback, and the golden child, and as much as he gets all the glory, he also carries the weight of all the expectations in a way the rest of them don’t.

 

Not that it will matter, because they won’t fall, no fucking way – but still.

 

The point is, Jamie starts giggling over some picture Jordie sent to the group text from the party, and it makes something in Tyler’s chest go warm and soft and relieved to see him so carefree, if only for a minute.

 

It’s that giddy, exhausted, sleep-deprived giggle that comes over Jamie sometimes, Tyler has learned. Jamie is usually so quiet and so serious, all about getting down to business, that the sound of that giggle is always unexpected coming from him, and Tyler can’t help but find it totally endearing.

 

Jamie collapses back onto the bed, still shaking and wiping his eyes. His hand falls warm against Tyler’s leg, and Tyler has to stare very carefully down at his phone to keep from looking at Jamie and showing him every stupid thing Tyler’s thinking, because he’s sure it’s written all over his face.

 

“Shit. That’s seriously so fucking funny.” Jamie wheezes finally, when the worst of the giggles have passed.

 

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees, then just to be a little shit, adds, “maybe not as funny as you made it seem, but still funny.”

 

Tyler braces, grins when he gets slugged in the shoulder like he knew he would.

 

“Trust me, _Tyler_ , it was that funny.” And Tyler knows he’s in serious trouble if he hears his first name out of Jamie’s mouth.

 

Tyler shifts a little on the bed, turns so he can see Jamie’s face, shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

 

“If you say so, dude.”

 

“That’s right. You should listen to your elders, young’un.”

 

Tyler snorts and rolls his eyes again, because Jamie may be a year ahead of him in school but in reality he’s only 6 months older, so _elder_ is a bit of a stretch – but Tyler keeps that thought to himself. Jamie’s still hiccupping a little, letting out little peals of laughter every few seconds until the fit finally passes and he sighs.

 

“God, I could sleep right here. I’m so fucking tired, my house might as well be a thousand fucking miles away.”

 

He’s staring vacantly at the ceiling when he says it. And Tyler knows he should probably slug

Jamie, shove him and tell him to move, offer to walk him out, just something.

 

Maybe that’s what Jamie is expecting, but then again, maybe not. Because this is another thing that’s happening a lot lately, and mostly Jamie ends up staying. So instead Tyler just props his phone up on the nightstand and brings up his best chill playlist, stretches out next to Jamie.

 

“A thousand miles is a long way.”

 

“A really long way.”

 

Jamie’s voice is all soft and sleepy, and his eyes are already closed.

 

+++

 

Tyler’s mom always calls too early on Saturdays, always forgetting about the time change no matter how many times Tyler reminds her. When his phone rings, he slips out of bed and into the bathroom quick as he can so he doesn’t wake up Jamie. He reminds her they didn’t have a game last night, when she asks how it went – lets her tell him how everything in Boston is just the same as he left it, and he tells her how everything in Texas is totally different, but he’s making it, he’s doing okay.

 

He talks to his sisters, makes them promise they’re taking good care of Marshall just the same as every time they talk, then Cassidy says mom wants to talk to him again. Call it 15 and three-quarters years worth of intuition about his parents’ bullshit, but Tyler immediately feels on edge, his hands clammy and stomach queasy.

 

“I just wanted to tell you,” his mom starts, in that too-chipper, forcibly nonchalant voice that Tyler knows too well, “that your dad was asking how your season’s going.”

 

“So?” Tyler shoots back, petulant and already pissed.

 

“He’s interested, baby. It would be nice if you’d call him once in a while, is all.”

 

“Oh, really? What exactly do you think we have to talk about?”

 

The last time he spoke to his father was last February, the last time he’d moved back into the house with the family. It had lasted 18 days that time – not that Tyler was counting - before the screaming brought Tyler flying out of his room and down the stairs. His mom had her back against the refrigerator, his dad right up in her face yelling, her crying and yelling right back because neither one of them has ever figured out how to just walk the fuck away.

 

When Tyler shoved his dad, stepped in front of his mother, the only words he said were _don’t fucking touch her_ and _get the fuck out._

 

“He’s still your father, Tyler,” she says now, like Tyler doesn’t _know_ that, like he could forget it even if he _wanted to_ , and Tyler wants to scream. He feels panic clawing at him from inside his chest.

 

“Is he living there?” he demands, and he knows his voice is too loud, but he can’t make himself be calm, just thinking about the fucking _idea_ of it. The possibility of his dad back in the house and Tyler a million miles away, and just his mom and his sisters there with no one to take care of them, and _God_. His sisters are too young to really remember the worst of it, the times back before Tyler got big enough and mean enough to stop taking his bullshit.

 

The last few years, his dad has come around less and less frequently, and Tyler knows it’s because of him, because Tyler’s not so easy to push around anymore, and his dad is a fucking coward who doesn’t want any part of messing with someone his own fucking size.

 

“He’s not living here,” his mother insists, “but I can’t just cut off contact with him, Tyler. The girls need to have a relationship with their dad, and he’s trying - .”

 

“Give me a fucking break, _he’s trying_.” Tyler would like to throw his phone across the room, but he manages to refrain. “I have to go. Do _not_ let him move back in there mom, I mean it. _Don’t_.”

 

He says it like he really has some authority over his mother’s decisions, like what he wants her to do, or tells her to do, or fucking _begs_ her to do might actually matter now, even though it’s literally never mattered before, not one fucking time. Even though it’s been made patently obvious to him by the dozen or so times his parents have crashed and burned, then gotten back together only for it to fall spectacularly apart again - neither of them really give much of a fuck about what their kids want, or what might be best for them.

 

Tyler loves his mom so much, and it’s hard as hell to think that about her, to _know_ it about her, but the truth is the truth.

 

“Baby,” she starts, but he cuts her off with another _I have to go_ , and ends the call.

 

He takes a piss and splashes water on his face, tries to compose himself. Once his hands stop shaking, he slides silently out the bathroom door and back into the bed, trying not to rustle the blankets too much. Jamie is still and warm next to him, radiating heat and calm, and Tyler breathes deep and tries to let it soak into his bones.

 

Then he feels Jamie’s hand on his shoulder. He tenses and waits, but Jamie’s silent, no _are you okay_ or whatever other bullshit. The kindness of the gesture makes Tyler’s eyes prickle suddenly, makes him take a deep breath. He feels like he should say something, and he needs his voice to be steady.

 

“My dad played in the minors, when he was younger. Played in the Texas League for a while, that’s how he met my mom.”

 

“She’s from here, right?” Jamie’s voice is soft and low like always, gravelly from sleep. It helps settle Tyler’s racing pulse, just a little.

 

“Yeah. She was still in high school, 17, and he was already divorced and 10 years older. I don’t know why the fuck she even - . But. Well. Anyway, she got pregnant, dropped out of school; married him and followed him around the country I guess. I was too young to really remember, but we were always moving. He’d get picked up by some team on a short contract then get cut, that kinda thing. But he’s from Boston, so. That’s where we ended up when he washed out for good.”

 

Jamie’s quiet, but his hand is a warm reminder that he’s here, that he’s got Tyler’s back. Tyler takes another deep breath.

 

“So yeah, my dad’s an asshole.”

 

“I figured,” is all Jamie says. His hand squeezes tighter on Tyler’s shoulder.

 

“It’s not like. I mean, he doesn’t - . He never hit us or anything, he just. Kind of pushed us around, I guess? Would shove us, yank on us, I don’t know. He’d grab you by the throat, sometimes, if he was drunk, or really pissed.”

 

He stops and breathes again. He holds it, lets it out in a shuddering sigh, and suddenly Jamie’s moving. His arm slides across Tyler’s chest, and he pulls their bodies together, the closest approximation of a hug they can manage, laying side by side in a bed. Tyler lets his fingers curl over Jamie’s forearm, and closes his eyes.

 

“I guess mostly, it was just yelling. Like, when you’re a kid, or I mean, my mom’s not really like, a big person, you know? And just, him standing over you screaming down at you, it was. He was always just kinda scary, I guess. It’s so fucked up, but that’s what he _wanted_ – for us to be scared of him. But then I grew up, and got bigger. Then I was bigger than _him_ , and suddenly I wasn’t scared anymore, I was just – so fucking pissed off.”

 

“I bet.”

 

“Things got really bad, once I stopped just taking his bullshit, started pushing back.”

 

“Is that why you’re here?” Jamie whispers, breath hot on Tyler’s neck. “Did he kick you out?”

 

Tyler snorts.

 

“Hell no, I kicked _him_ out,” he spits, and he gets that it’s a fucked up thing to be proud of or whatever, but he _is_ proud. Not like his dad ever paid the fucking bills, fucking deadbeat, and if his mom had to work her ass off to put a roof over their heads and food on their table, the least Tyler could do was keep her safe – keep them _all_ safe. Things are just so much better without him around, everyone’s happier and, it’s like the air is lighter, like you can _breathe_. But still –.

 

“She says she’s really done with him this time, but I don’t fucking know. She’s said that a lot, before, and she always ends up - . She just better not let him back in the house, that’s all. I mean, if she wants to ruin her own life that’s her business, but my sisters - .”

 

His voice does crack then, and he has to stop there. Jamie doesn’t press, just squeezes Tyler tight and lets him be quiet, and pretends he doesn’t hear the sniffling, or see the tears leaking down Tyler’s cheeks.


	2. 2

 

There are still a lot of things Tyler just doesn’t really _get_ about Texas. Near the top of the list has got to be the whole Homecoming situation they’ve got going, and the ensuing insanity.

 

There have been dudes pulling elaborate HoCo proposals in the halls, like they’re straight up getting engaged, for weeks, which is weird enough. But Tyler’s been asked to Homecoming by about 7 girls he’s legit never laid eyes on before, like what the fuck, and one girl in his English class, which made it much more awkward to tell her no. When he said he really just needed to focus on the game, nothing personal, she was cool about it – but Tyler still felt bad.

 

There’s a ballot for voting on the Homecoming Court that’s passed out in one of his actual classes, like an assignment. Like it’s a matter of serious school-wide importance. Jamie’s name is on the list of guys for the Junior Court and Big Benn and Daley are on the Seniors list, so Tyler makes sure to turn his in, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel super weird about it.

 

Also on the list of Junior girls is Addison Grimes, who Tyler has only recently learned is Jamie’s ex-girlfriend. He’s never met her in person, but he took it upon himself to look her up in the yearbooks at lunch, because he’s lame like that.

 

He recognized her immediately, first of all because she’s the kind of beautiful that you notice, but second of all because she’s instantly identifiable as the tiny little cheerleader they throw around the most, the one they launch into the air to do flip after flip after dizzying, stupefying flip, and send up to the top of all their super-elaborate pyramid formations. Before Tyler even knew who she was, he was already impressed with her – athletically speaking – to say nothing of her long blonde hair and a big, sweet smile.

 

The whole revelation makes Tyler feel inexplicably, stupidly inadequate – as if knowing that Jamie once liked this one, specific girl is somehow worse than already knowing that _Jamie likes girls_. It’s also fucked up, the way he feels pathetically grateful that at least Jamie doesn’t have a _current_ girlfriend.

 

The week of the Homecoming Game is designated _Spirit Week_ , and every day is a different ‘dress-up’ day, which Tyler fully expects to just ignore. But when he wears his regular jeans and t-shirt on Monday instead of pajamas for “PJ’s Day”, the whole team gives him shit about it, and the Captains make him run after practice.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me this was, like, a _thing_?” Tyler asks on the way home. He doesn’t mean to sound accusatory, since Jamie only wore sweats, which are not strictly pajamas. But he could pass for participating at least, whereas Tyler could not. All he’s saying is a little heads up would have been nice.

 

“I didn’t know you weren’t gonna do it, loser,” Jamie shrugs, with his little grin. “Spirit Week isn’t really all about us or anything, but still. Not like you have to go all out or whatever, but it looks kinda shitty if the team doesn’t participate.”

 

So on Toga Tuesday he has his Grandma help him wrap a sheet around himself and pin it together in a half-assed effort at best, but at least he doesn’t have to run after practice. On Wednesday his Grandpa lets him borrow some weird pull-over slicker thing for Camo Day, because why the fuck would Tyler own anything camouflage? Jamie wears these coveralls that make him look like some kind of redneck lumberjack and/or cast member from Duck Dynasty, and Tyler is horrified to find that he is apparently, embarrassingly, into it.

 

He has no fucking idea what he’s going to do on Thursday for Dynamic Duo Day. He thinks maybe he wouldn’t feel too bad asking his Grandma to buy something like a Batman costume, since it could double for Halloween in a few weeks, but he’s not sure if it still counts as a Dynamic Duo if he doesn’t have a Robin to go with him.

 

But when he mentions it to Jamie, Jamie just grins and says _don’t worry about it, I got you covered_.

 

Tyler’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but then Jamie shows up to pick him up Thursday morning wearing a Brady jersey with his jeans, and Tyler’s heart skips a beat.

 

“Dude,” he grins like an idiot, can’t help it, “where did you get that?”

 

“Can’t reveal my sources.” Jamie looks pleased with himself, smug little smile with his hands in his pockets while he watches Tyler take the tacks out of his Welker jersey and pull it down off the wall, slip it over his head.

 

“You should have gotten a Manning jersey, idiot,” Jordie says when they get to the car.

 

“Ty’s Welker jersey if from the Pats, _idiot_ ,” Jamie shoots back. “How would Manning make any sense?”

 

“Also, I like to pretend the whole defecting to the Broncos thing never happened,” Tyler adds, “and Jamie’s got my back.”

 

“I’m a true friend,” Jamie agrees, and Jordie snorts.

 

“Losers.”

 

Friday is School Colors Day, and Tyler gratefully goes back to wearing his own jersey and not having to put any special thought into his wardrobe.

 

Half the girls in school show up with giant flower-and-teddy-bear-encrusted monstrosities covering their entire upper bodies, straps wrapped around the backs of their necks to support the crushing weight of their mums. Their dates wear a matching, miniature-but-still-ridiculous version strapped around their upper arms on a an elastic band that Tyler learns is called a garter.

 

The whole thing looks hideous, uncomfortable, and completely impractical, not to mention pointless.

“But like, _why_ ,” he asks Jamie, for like the fifth time. “Why do they wear them? What’s the _point_?”

“I have no idea, man,” Jamie shrugs, “all I know is mums are expensive as shit, and garters are a pain in the ass to wear. Thank God I didn’t have to deal with any of that this year.”

 

It goes without saying, Tyler is also incredibly glad Jamie didn’t have to deal with that this year.

At halftime of the game, Jamie and Jordie and Daley all have to stay out on the field to take part in finding out the results of the Homecoming popularity contest, or whatever. Tyler’s gets to go to the locker room and get yelled at by Coach Ruff even though the Stars are up by 24, and thinks snarkily to himself that those guys better not let this little disruption screw up their second half.

 

+++

 

A bunch of them order pizza after the win, go sit around the giant stone fireplace in Goligoski’s back yard, which is nice since in the space of a week it’s suddenly turned from summer to fall, and it’s actually chilly out.

 

Nobody’s really up for a big party – it’s been a long week and they’ve all got to ride in the Homecoming Parade tomorrow morning. Tyler’s home by 11, Jamie in tow.

 

“So, how exactly does this parade work?” Tyler asks, once they’re in the dark in his bed. They usually go through that night’s game tape at least once on Friday nights before they pass out, but they have to be up a lot earlier than usual in the morning. They made it through the first half tonight, but that was as far as they got.

 

“Um, it’s a bunch of cars driving in a line? People come and stand along the street to watch you go by. Sometimes they wave, or you throw candy at them. It’s a pretty simple concept.”

 

Tyler can tell even in the dark Jamie’s holding back a smile, like he thinks he’s so fucking funny. He kicks across the space between them, and feels triumphant when he makes contact with Jamie’s shin and gets a yelp for his troubles.

 

“That’s what happens when you’re a smartass.”

 

“Fine, geez,” Jamie giggles a little, “we just show up and go where we’re told. Usually the team rides in a few a trailers with hay bales to sit on, something like that. You seriously don’t have Homecoming parades in Boston?”

 

“With trailers full of hay bales? Uh, _no_. I went to a Catholic boys school last year. Our homecoming weekend was all about fancy dinners and charity auctions, and getting the rich Alumni to give us more money and shit.”

 

“Well, your only job will be to sit there and look pretty, so it’s basically tailor made for you.”

 

Tyler’s stomach goes weird and squirmy at that, because sometimes Jamie makes comments like that and he doesn’t know how to react. Typically, he decides to take it as a veiled insult and defend his own honor.

 

“Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful,” he says, and kicks Jamie again. “Don’t know what they’re gonna do about you, though. They might not let you on the trailer, if pretty is in the job description.”

 

“Ugh, I _wish_ I was riding with the team.” Jamie doesn’t even bother to object to Tyler’s teasing, he just sighs, unhappy.

 

“I have to ride on the Homecoming Court float, with Addie. I’m sure that won’t be awkward at all.”

 

“Oh right, I forgot. You’re _Royalty_.” Because of course Jamie won Junior Homecoming Prince, as if there’d been any other possibility.

 

Jamie just snorts derisively in the dark.

 

It’s quiet for a beat, and Tyler decides there’s no time like the present to ask the totally nonchalant questions he’s been dying to know the answers to.

 

“Bad break up?”

 

“No - I mean, we’re fine or whatever. But we used to hang out all the time, and now we don’t even talk, except now there’s this thing where we’re forced to hang out and talk whether we like it or not. It’s just weird.”

 

“How long did you guys go out, anyway?”

 

Jamie sighs again.

 

“From 8th grade until last summer. Like, almost three years.”

 

“Holy shit!” It just comes out of him, because that’s a long fucking time. “Why’d you break up?”

 

Jamie’s silent for long enough that Tyler starts to wish he hadn’t asked. Jamie’s never nosy, never digging into shit Tyler doesn’t want to talk about, and Tyler feels like maybe he’s being an asshole, here.

 

“Sorry,” he tries, and reaches for Jamie’s shoulder in the dark, “you don’t have to talk about it or whatever.” He squeezes, trying to seem supportive, the way Jamie always is with him.

 

“It’s cool, it’s just. Three years is a crazy long time, y’know? It starts to make things seem like they should be really serious, or something, when really you’re in high school and it shouldn’t be that serious. I just – it all started to feel like a lot of pressure, I guess.”

 

“Yeah, I can see that. I mean, not like I’d know, but I guess I can imagine or whatever.”

 

“What’s the longest you’ve dated someone?” Jamie asks, perfectly sincerely like that’s not a ridiculous question.

 

“Me?” Tyler huffs. “Dude, I’ve never even been on a date, must less _dated_.”

 

“ _Ohhh_ , I see,” Jamie shoves at his shoulder under the blankets, his voice sly and teasing, and Tyler slaps at his hand, turning it into a little tussle while Jamie keeps giving him shit. “T-Sizzle is too much for one woman, is that it? Gotta spread it around?”

 

 And the thing is, typically that’s exactly the kind of thing Tyler’s great at playing along with, exactly the kind of persona he tries to foster without actually lying, or straight up making shit up, because most of the time it just makes life fucking easier for him. But he kind of feels like Jamie should know, by now, that’s obviously not really the case. He feels inexplicably annoyed, all of a sudden.

 

“Oh yeah,” he says sarcastically, “because you’ve seen so many girls hanging around here.”

 

“Dude,” Jamie scoffs, “how many girls asked you to HoCo?”

 

Tyler’s suddenly blushing in the dark, because – oh, right. That.

 

“A few,” he says, dismissive, and Jamie snorts.

 

“I heard it was like six or seven.”

 

“I didn’t even _know_ them,” Tyler says, petulant, like that explains something.

 

“Is that why you told them all no? Because you didn’t know them?”

 

Jamie’s voice is sort of low, suddenly, breathy or something, and the air instantly feels charged, crackling with electric tension. Tyler can’t be sure if Jamie’s trying to insinuate anything, if he’s fishing, but whether he is or isn’t, now would be the obvious time to just tell the truth. If there’s anyone trustworthy in the world, it’s Jamie fucking Benn, that much Tyler is sure of, but he just – can’t. Because it’s not just about trust, about being sure Jamie would keep his secret.

 

It’s about how Jamie understands Tyler, right now in this moment, and how that will all change if Tyler tells the truth. Because right now it’s fine for Tyler to be a tactile kind of guy, the type that will bump you with a shoulder or slap you on the ass, jump on your back and wrap his legs around your waist, sling an arm around the back of your seat in the car, slap and shove at you to entice you into rough housing then stay snug up against you , like he’s still snugged up against Jamie now. And that’s all fine, because right now, as far as Jamie knows Tyler’s also a guy who likes girls, so he doesn’t _mean anything_ by it.

 

And right now, what Tyler needs most is Jamie’s friendship. It’s one of the only things keeping him together, here, and he can’t afford to risk it. And not to be conceited or anything, but he thinks Jamie must need him too, if the amount of time he’s spending at Tyler’s house is anything to go on.

 

Because if Jordie’s not with them, if he’s got something else going on or has another way home, then Jamie pretty much always just comes in with him instead of dropping Tyler off after practice. He eats dinner with the family and charms Tyler’s Grandma and Grandpa some more, and hangs out until late.

 

Or if Jordie’s driving then they do drop Tyler off, and Jamie goes home to eat, to do his homework and whatever, but then he’ll text later, sometimes so late the house is already dark and quiet, Tyler’s Grandparents already tucked away back in their bedroom, and say something like,

 

_I got a copy of the Boyd-East game from Friday, I could bring it over?_

 

Or sometimes just,

 

_I was thinking about some stuff that might work against McKinney, u still awake?_

 

And Mr. Benn is always on board with Jamie spending more time on football, so Jamie’s got a pretty long leash when it comes to his comings and goings.

 

Anyway, Tyler likes Jamie coming over late, flopping down next to him in the dark and talking to him in that quiet voice, drawl coming out as he gets sleepy, keeping him up going over defensive schemes and passing routes until they’re both so tired they fall asleep mid-sentence. Honestly, Tyler feels like he sleeps better on the nights when Jamie is there, wakes up less exhausted and strung out, and he’s always a little strung out these days. But at least Jamie makes it better, and Tyler doesn’t really care anymore if he likes Jamie in a way that Jamie is never gonna like him back, he’s just glad to have someone close like that who he can really talk to. It’s comforting in a way Tyler couldn’t really have imagined before, the bulk of Jamie lying face down next to Tyler, sharing one laptop screen between them, watching game tape and highlight vids and going down youtube holes of top teams across the state, and the country.

 

And if sometimes Jamie’s heavy head ends up propped against Tyler’s shoulder, or sometimes his big hand slips through Tyler’s hair while Tyler uses Jamie’s thigh as a pillow, well, Tyler wants that part too.

 

But as soon as Tyler’s a guy who likes guys, as soon as Jamie _knows_ that, then everything changes. Suddenly it’s not cool for Tyler to just be who he is – an overly friendly, kind of handsy guy who likes to touch and be touched, who’s not shy about throwing his body around, who doesn’t pay much attention to things like boundaries and personal space. But it could suddenly become so tempting, so easy to assume he does _mean something_ by it, even when he doesn’t, just because he’s gay.

 

Then there’s the part where, when it comes to Jamie at least, Tyler kinda _does_ mean something by it. Or at least, he wishes like hell he could. And he doesn’t want to get his hopes up at all, because God, unrequited pining for some straight boy is bad enough, but outright rejection because you’re dumb enough to mistake a straight boy for something other than straight, that’s just fucking brutal and Tyler wants no part of it, thanks.

 

But that doesn’t mean he’s ready to give up what he’s got, the easy intimacy they’ve established between them or the careless way Jamie lets Tyler invade his physical space.

 

So in answer to Jamie’s question, he just says,  


“That was part of it, yeah,” and leaves it at that, hopes Jamie doesn’t ask him to explain what the rest of it was – and of course, Jamie doesn’t.

 

He’s always been willing to let Tyler keep his secrets.

 

+++ 

 

Tyler scores twice again the next week to extend his TD streak to 5 games, and the Stars beat Plano to go to 7 and 0. Jamie goes 28 for 34 for 302 yards passing, and 5 TDs, plus rushing for one of his own. He gets mobbed on the field after the clock runs out, then gets pulled aside to talk to the local news. When he finally makes it into the locker room, the boys are mostly out of the shower and getting dressed already, and they break out in a chant of _Chubbs!Chubbs!Chubbs!Chubbs!_ , clapping and yelling it faster and faster until no one can keep up anymore and it devolves into a bunch of hooting and hollering, while Jamie ducks his head and smiles bashfully. Tyler stares resolutely at his feet and concentrates on tying his shoes, because of all Jamie’s smiles, that one is the most devastating to Tyler’s psyche.

 

Everyone’s headed back to Roussel’s uncle’s land, apparently – according to Jordie, who tells Tyler that as he’s handing over the keys to the Bronco.

 

“You’re staying with Chubbs, yeah? See you guys out there later?”

 

Tyler didn’t know what the plan was, actually, is never totally sure what he’s doing since he’s always at the mercy of teammates – usually the Benns – for rides.

 

“You’re not waiting?” Tyler asks, and Jordie shrugs.

 

“I’m gonna roll out with Daley. Y’all come on, when he’s done. He knows where it is.”

 

“O -,” is all Tyler has a chance to say, before Jordie’s out the door. “Kay,” he finishes, just to himself.

 

So Tyler leans back into his locker to wait, messing around on his phone, handing out fist bumps and high fives as his teammates trickle past him out of the locker room.

 

He doesn’t realize his mistake until he’s the only one left, and when he glances up from his game of Candy Crush, suddenly there’s Jamie, hair dripping onto his shoulders, naked but for the towel he’s holding in front of his junk.

_Fuck._

 

Tyler sucks in an embarrassingly audible breath, looks back down at his phone as fast as he can, but he knows it’s too late. He’s already let his eyes get too wide, slide too low; he’s already made it weird.

 

It’s so stupid – they’re naked together in this room literally every day. But this is just the two of them, just Jamie naked in front of him, and Tyler’s fully dressed and has no choice but to just. _Look_ at him, or try desperately not to. The air feels charged again in an instant – that static crackle happening more and more often lately.

 

Tyler pokes determinedly at his screen and tries desperately for nonchalant.

 

“I was assigned to wait for you – Captain’s orders. I’ve got the keys to the Bronco.”

 

“Cool,” Jamie responds, eventually, turning his back to Tyler and dropping his towel onto the bench in front of him.

 

Tyler really, really doesn’t want to be the creep who checks out his teammates on the sly, but as always Jamie’s naked skin is like a magnet for his eyes, he can’t keep them where they belong. Instead they’re sliding over, watching the play of Jamie’s hamstrings and glutes as he steps into his boxer briefs.

 

As he pulls the elastic up past his knees, legs slightly apart, Tyler gets the briefest glance, a shadow really, of his balls hanging between his thighs, and Tyler’s mouth goes dry, his skin feels too tight. He knows he’s blushing, and Jamie’s going to turn around soon and see it, and _shit motherfucking goddammit._

 

He closes his game and pulls up his bookmark for the Dallas Morning News _Highschool Sports Day_ site, starts reading tonight’s results aloud, just to break the loaded silence.

 

“East beat West,” he starts, and doesn’t look up when Jamie turns around. “Oh, and shit, look at this, Boyd beat McKinney.”

 

“No shit?” Jamie pulls his shirt over his head, and Tyler feels immediately better, feels the hunted animal pace of his heartrate start to drop. “What about District 9?”

 

District 9 is where their first round opponent will come from, in the Playoffs. They’ve all been keeping an eye on how it’s shaping up.

 

“Pearce beat Berkner, Lake Highlands beat Richardson.”

 

“So LH is still in first,” Jamie says, and it’s not a question. The boy has the current standings of every District in the The Metroplex memorized.

 

“Yep. Skyline _murdered_ Sunset, moved into second.”

 

“They’ll end up first, they don’t have anyone tough left. They’re gonna win out, for sure.”

 

He also has their schedules memorized, apparently. Tyler can’t help but grin, especially once Jamie’s fully clothed and not quite so fucking dangerous.

 

At the party, it’s the same old same – Jamie and Tyler drinking Gatorade and soda on the tailgate of the Bronco, watching everyone get sloppy and loud, laughing and talking shit with their knees and shoulders bumping, feet swinging.

 

Some kind of drunken dance-off develops just in front of them, two guys drawing a crowd around them as they take turns exchanging increasingly ridiculous moves to the whistling and cat-calling of the onlookers. One of them attempts to execute that thing where you hold one foot in front of you with your opposite hand, then jump over your own leg, but he gets all tangled up and falls flat on his face. Everyone’s cracking up, and he takes a little bow once he stands up and dusts himself off.

 

When the same guy comes by later to snag a beer out of the cooler next to the truck, he jerks his chin at Jamie.

 

“Sup, Chubbs.”

 

“Lookin’ good out there, Morin,” Jamie grins, and Tyler snickers.

 

“Yeah, nice moves, man,” he chimes in, smiling - but the kid turns on him with a sneer.

 

“Hey, I don’t know you, _man_ , and you don’t know me. So maybe you should keep your fuckin’ opinions to yourself.”

 

“Jesus,” Tyler raises a skeptical eyebrow, hands up, “sensitive much?”

 

He realizes his mistake immediately, when the guy steps up to him, towering. Even as high as the Bronco is jacked up, Tyler’s still sitting while he’s standing, and is stuck looking up at him.

 

“You should learn to shut your fucking mouth,” the guy growls, and pokes Tyler in the chest, “before someone shuts it for you.”

 

Tyler opens his mouth to make another smart remark immediately, because God knows he’s never been good at avoiding trouble, but Jamie’s up off the tailgate in no time, chest to chest with the guy. The second Jamie’s boots hit the dirt, it feels like the whole party goes silent.

 

“Hey,” Jamie says, low and soft just like he always talks, nothing to see here, “c’mon, Morin, he didn’t mean anything. Just let it go, huh?”

 

“Think you’re such hot shit,” Morin spits over Jamie’s shoulder, eyes still on Tyler, and Jamie’s got a hand on his chest now, holding him off.

 

“I was just messing around, dude,” Tyler rolls his eyes, because he just can’t help himself, he’s always gotta say something, can never just bite his tongue, “you’re the one being an asshole right now.”

 

“Fuckin’ pussy,” Morin spits out, lunging at Tyler, but Jamie steps further in front of him and shoves him back. He stumbles a little but stays on his feet, gets right back up in Jamie’s face.

 

“Seriously, Benn?” He’s on fire now, face red and voice getting louder as he shoves at Jamie’s shoulder, “you gonna fight his battles for him, your fuckin’ bitch boy? He suckin’ your dick for those sweet TD passes, huh?”

 

And Jamie doesn’t say a fucking word, he just decks the guy, puts him directly in the dirt. There’s an audible gasp from the crowd, and Tyler’s on his feet in an instant, instinctively scanning for Jordie because yeah, Tyler will fight if he has to but it’s not like he’s any _good_ at it; he could definitely use the backup.

 

Jordie shoves through the crowd just in time to see Morin launch himself up off the ground, putting his shoulder into Jamie’s stomach and taking them both down.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Tyler yelps as they roll into his legs, kicking and cursing. He tries to make a grab for Morin’s arm, but they’re all over the place, wrestling around, kicking up dust. Jordie lunges in, gets his hands on Morin’s shoulders to haul him back, but they roll over again, away from him, and then suddenly Jamie’s straddling the guy’s middle, pinning him down. He’s way bigger than this guy, heavier and with a longer reach, so he holds him off with one hand in his shirt collar and gets in two, then three hard punches with the other, bloodies his face before Jordie manages to grab his raised fist.

 

“Enough,” he yells, right in Jamie’s ear, “we get it! Jesus, we get it, Chubbs, okay? That’s enough.”

 

He hoists Jamie up off the ground, and some of Morin’s boys come and haul him in other direction, blood dripping from his nose.

 

“Okay folks,” Eakin comes through with the whole crew, Dillon, Daley, Goligoski, Roussel, Garbutt all trailing after him while he claps loud and slow, yelling like a carnival barker, “show’s over, nothing to see here!” It diffuses the tension in the crowd enough that Tyler can feel the collective exhale. “Everybody back to your regularly scheduled drinking!”

 

People laugh and start to disperse, while Jordie hustles Jamie into the passenger seat of the Bronco, calling him a _stupid fucking idiot_ the whole way. He slams the door, then slams the tailgate as he rounds the back of the truck.

 

“If you’re coming with us, get the fuck in,” he growls, and Tyler makes wide-eyed eye contact with Daley, who just raises his eyebrows and shakes his head behind Jordie’s back. He walks over to the driver’s side, puts a hand on Jordie’s shoulder.

 

“Hey, Seguin’ll ride with us, you just worry about takin’ care of my QB, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Jordie grunts, tight lipped. Then he slams the door, and they peel off down the dirt path back to the main road.

 

“Chubbs always was a scrapper,” Garbutt tells him, in the back seat of Daley’s car. “But it’s been a minute since he got into it with anyone. Think the stress of the season is getting to him?”

 

“It’s not Jamie’s fault,” Tyler shakes his head miserably, “I should have just kept my mouth shut and none of this would have happened.” He can feel the shame coloring to his face, and is glad for the cover of darkness.

 

“Nah, it’s - Chubbs has to deal with shit none of the rest of us do,” Daley pipes up, “reporters and recruiters and every fucking Oklahoma fan in the country speculating constantly about when and if he’s gonna commit. And you know how he is, never says word one about any of it, just fucking piles it all on his back and goes to work like nothing bothers him.”

 

“Yeah, until someone says the wrong shit,” Garbutt snorts, “and suddenly he beats their face in.”

 

When Tyler climbs out of the car, Daley rolls his window down.

 

“Thanks for the ride.” Tyler reaches over to bump fists.

 

“Don’t sweat it, Seguin,” Daley shakes his head. “And listen, Morin grew up playing with all of us, and got cut this year. Sucks pretty hard as a Senior, y’know? But he was a Junior on the JV last year, and he barely got on the field. Then you moved in, and – that was a game changer for a lot of us, y’know? I think he wants to put it on you, like you _took his spot_ on the Varsity. And I mean, maybe you did, but he wasn’t ever gonna get the touches you get, ‘cause he can’t do what you do, okay? If he could, you’d be on the JV and he’d be in your shoes.”

 

“Word,” Goligoski confirms from the shotgun seat.

 

Tyler just shrugs unsurely, because he didn’t know any of that shit, doesn’t even remember Morin from two-a-days or anything, but it’s also an uncomfortable reminder that Eakin was supposed to be the Stars main receiver this year, and Tyler’s definitely cutting into his shine, taking some of those catches and some of those TD’s that would otherwise be going to him. Same goes for Garbutt and Roussel, who are also part of the corps of backs and receivers whose hierarchy was supposed to be all sorted out, before Tyler showed up unannounced and took a piece of their pie for himself.

 

That’s the hardest part about being on a team full of guys who are so fucking talented.

 

But none of those guys ever let on that there are any hard feelings on their side whatsoever. Even now, Garbutt’s nodding from the backseat, lending his support to Daley’s assertions, and there’s nothing passive aggressive about it, nothing but a genuine smile on his face.

 

“Point is, none of this shit was your fault – not Morin’s little fuckin’ hissy fit, not Chubbs losing his mind, none of it. Yeah?”

 

Tyler swallows hard, wishing he could believe it that easily, but he gives Daley a nod.

 

“Yeah. Thanks, man. Good Captaining, eh?”

 

Daley just laughs.

 

“Any time, man.”

 

He puts the truck in reverse, and Tyler watches them drive off before he turns on his heel and heads into the house.

 

+++

 

After he showers off the dirt and smoke, in the dark of his room at 1 am, alone, Tyler can admit to himself that Jamie fighting was.

 

Well.

 

Hot, okay?

 

Fine, it was hot, but only in retrospect. At the time it was just out of the blue crazy, and adrenaline pounding scary.

 

But thinking about it in his bed alone, with no one there to know and no one there to judge, Tyler’s got his hand in his pants in no time, thinking about the way Jamie stepped in front of him like some goddamn knight in shining armor, the way he fought, silent but deadly. The way he wrestled that guy into submission, it was. Well, how could Tyler _not_ find it hot, is the thing?

 

It doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel shitty about it, or that he doesn’t spare a thought and a prayer for Jamie’s left hand, and take a moment to hope he didn’t hurt himself.

 

He sends a text, _u ok_? And gets back, _yeah, sorry about everything_. Tyler snorts at his phone, shaking his head as he’s typing his reply.

_Totally my fault dude – gotta learn to keep my stupid mouth shut. Hope you didn’t hurt anything._

 

Jamie responds with:

_Hand was a little swollen. Soaked it in an ice bath for an hour and took a bunch of Advil, Captain’s orders. Feels good as new._

 

Tyler doubts that’s totally true but he still breathes a sigh of relief, and taps out a series of happy emoji, along with _get some sleep_.

 

Since Jamie’s okay and everything, Tyler feels better about still being horny. He pulls out his laptop, puts in his earbuds, and pulls up his favorites, the dorm room guys. They’ve got three or four videos up now, all very much pertinent to Tyler’s interests. The most recent one he’s only watched a few times so far, and he still hasn’t made it all the way to the end. It’s like a secret treat he’s unwrapping little by little.

 

When it starts the smaller guy is lying face down, and the bigger guy with the tattoos is sitting astride his ass. They both have shorts on to start, while the guy on top rubs massage oil into the back and shoulders of the guy on the bottom. He takes his time, coaxing groans and pants out of his boyfriend with his hands, rubbing and kneading the shining skin. Eventually he works the boy’s shorts down lower and lower, kneading down his back and up over the beginnings of the swell of his ass, and then finally he pulls them all the way off. He keeps up the massage all the way down the boy’s thighs and calves, even rubs his feet with the oil, digging his thumbs into the arches while his boyfriend squirms and groans that it _feels so good._ Then he rubs back up those long legs and concentrates on the boy’s ass, kneading at the pale globes, rubbing oil into the skin of his ass and along his crack, then the camera angle changes.

 

Suddenly the camera is looking right up between the legs of the boy lying on the bed, his thighs open and his dick and balls pushed down flat against the bed where the camera can see them, flushed and smooth against the dark grey sheets. The other boy is straddling his back facing the camera now, his hard cock bobbing as he moves, and he’s pulling his boyfriend’s ass open, rubbing slick oil around his hole with his thumbs. He takes his time massaging the ring of muscle with the lube, coaxing gently, until he can slip the thumbs of both hands inside, back to back.

 

His boyfriend groans, and the guy on top makes a pleased noise.

 

“That’s so good, baby,” he whispers, hands still working, “you look so good, you don’t even know. Can’t wait to make you come.”

 

Tyler wishes, not for the first time, he could see their faces.

 

The tattooed guy keeps working, easing his fingers in and out, stretching his boyfriend’s hole open so when he pulls his fingers out and lets the camera get a clear look, it flutters and clenches on nothing, open and slick.

 

Tyler hasn’t made it past this part of the video yet, keeps being done in right around here, but tonight he takes his hand away from his cock, pauses the video and gives himself a few minutes to cool down. He _really_ wants to see how this ends.

 

When he starts it back up again, he keeps his hands fisted in the blankets and out of his pants.

 

The boy on top leans down, and you can see the back of his head between his boyfriend’s ass cheeks, hear the slick sounds of mouth on skin, and you just _know_ he’s licking and sucking at that wet, open hole; his boyfriend lets out a long, strangled gasp that makes Tyler want to _die_. He can feel his own cock blurt out a little spurt of slick at the sound, but he keeps his hands clenched in the sheets.

 

When the guy on top sits back up, he keeps his head down so his face stays hidden, but you can see enough of the bottom of his face to know his chin is glistening and wet. He sits up fully, so his head’s back out of frame, and now he’s got a thick, veiny dildo in his hand, dark purple and intimidating-looking. He slicks it up while he ruts his hard cock against the swell of the ass in front of him, while his boyfriend squirms under him, hips grinding down, humping his cock against the bed. You can see the dark patch on the sheets around the tip of his cock.

 

He lets out a series of high-pitched whimpers when the dildo slides into him, a breathy _ah-ah-ah_ that turns into a deep, guttural _oh, fuck_ at the end as the dildo is finally buried in his ass.

 

The boy holding the dildo twists and pushes and pulls, until the other boy pants suddenly, desperately, _there, right there, right there, please,_ then he just recreates that movement over and over, pushing the dildo in and pulling it out in a steady, firm rhythm, angle never changing, and whispers _come on baby, you can do it, come for me, come on._

 

The boy on the bottom whimpers and squirms and humps the bed, his movements jerky and desperate for several long, quiet minutes while the guy on top pushes the dildo into him at that same relentless pace. Then suddenly his breathing kicks up audibly, his cock jerks against the sheets and he’s coming, long ropes of milky white against the steel grey.

 

His boyfriend lets out a long, satisfied groan like he’s the one who just came, and laughs, almost incredulous, _holy shit that’s so hot._

 

Tyler grabs his own cock, because enough is enough and he can only take so much. There’s still 5 minutes left in the video but Jesus, he’s got to come, so he strokes himself a few quick times, imagining himself on his belly with his legs spread, someone heavy with big hands and long fingers sitting on him, holding him down, working a dildo into his ass until he comes, and that’s all it takes - he’s done.

 

He stops the video and saves the end for another day, and barely manages to clean himself up before he crashes.

 

+++

 

The Fight is big news around school the next week, rumors flying about the exact particulars. Tyler hears that the fight was about Addison Grimes, because Travis Morin wants to ask her out and even though they’re broken up, Jamie still cares about her and doesn’t think Morin is good enough for her. He hears someone say it started because Jamie made a joke and Morin called him a cocksucker, and someone else say Morin was criticizing the team, talking shit about Jamie’s play.

 

But the thing he hears the most is something closer to the truth - that Morin was talking shit to Tyler and Jamie was just trying to break it up. He hears several people mention how Morin was drunk and Jamie was not – everyone knows he doesn’t drink – but people are also saying how _Tyler_ doesn’t drink, so the general consensus seems to be that Morin was out of line, being a drunken asshole, and Jamie and Tyler were in the right.

 

Tyler can’t remember ever getting the benefit of the doubt like this before, and whether it’s a result of his own impeccable, if he does say so himself, behavior since he’s been at Stonebridge, or just his proximity to the shine of Jamie Benn that’s doing it, Tyler will take it. He tries to learn the fucking lesson here and keeps his mouth shut all week, stays totally out of the gossip and refuses to confirm or deny any rumors.

 

Morin doesn’t come to school on Monday or Tuesday, then finally shows up Wednesday with a scab on his lip and a purple-green semi-circle under one eye. So Tyler hears, at least, but he never sees Morin in the halls, and is glad for it.

 

Jamie’s hand is a little bruised up, but he’s fine. If he also has a fist-shaped bruise just under his ribs on one side of his chest, well, nobody mentions it, and you can bet no one outside the locker room will ever know about that.

 

They play the weakest team in the District on Friday and win by 40. Jamie just keeps coming to Tyler all night, like he’s trying to make a point; by the end Tyler has 13 catches, 3 for TD’s.

 

After the game Jamie is once again stuck talking to reporters, and recruiters. Once again, Jordie dumps the keys to the Bronco into Tyler’s hands, this time with a stern look.

 

“Maybe just take him home tonight, huh?” He says, eyebrows raised in a question that’s really an order.

 

“You got it, Big Benn.” Tyler swipes a little salute and Jordie rolls his eyes, but nods.

 

This week Tyler is prepared, _High School Sports Day_ already pulled up on his phone and eyes carefully trained there, feigning distraction when Jamie comes out of the showers, naked and dripping. He starts right in before anything has time to get weird.

 

“McKinney beat West; Boyd beat East,” he announces, as soon as he sees Jamie out of the corner of his eye.

 

“What about 9?” is the predictable response.

 

Tyler dutifully reports that Pearce, Lake Highlands and Skyline all won, so no changes to the standings.

Lake Highlands is still in first, Skyline in second, Pearce third.

 

“Won’t last,” Jamie predicts once again, “Skyline’s got the tie-break, and LH still has to play Pearce. We’re definitely gonna get LH, first up.”

 

As the first place team in their district, Stonebridge will play the District runner-up in their first round Bi-District Playoff pairing.

 

“What about District 12?” he asks, and from the tiny, momentary glance Tyler allows himself in Jamie’s direction, he sees that not only is Jamie’s back safely turned, but his underwear is already on. Tyler breathes a little easier.

 

“Horn, Mesquite, North Mesquite,” Tyler dutifully reports the standings. “Horn beat Mesquite tonight, still undefeated.”

 

“Hmm,” Jamie grunts, non-committal. The second round of the playoffs is likely to pit them against the winner of the District Pairing that includes Mesquite Horn, one of the other top teams in the Metroplex. It’ll be a tough opponent to go up against in such an early round, and none of them want to look too far down the road and get ahead of themselves, but it’s definitely on the radar.

 

Jamie pulls his hoodie over his head and shoves his feet into his shoes. “I’ve got the Horn-Longview game at home, haven’t watched it yet.”

 

He doesn’t need to say any more than that. Tyler shakes his head and sighs, long-suffering, but he’s grinning. He jangles the Bronco keys at Jamie.

 

“Captain’s instructions _were_ to take you straight home, so.” He shrugs, and Jamie snags the key ring off Tyler’s extended index finger.

 

By the time they’ve picked apart the Horn defense in slow, painstaking detail, Tyler can barely keep his eyes open, but Jamie still looks fucking wired, still talking a mile a minute about routes and schemes and coverages. Tyler’s starting to think there’s something to that whole thing Daley was saying last week about the shit Jamie deals with that the rest of them don’t.

 

It’s not like Tyler didn’t _know_ it, but it’s getting to be more and more pronounced as the season wears on.

 

“Hey,” he keeps his voice low, trying for soothing, maybe, in the dark of Jamie’s room after they turn off the game. “How’re you doing with – everything?”

 

Jamie’s quiet for a few beats.

 

“What do you mean?” He asks carefully, slowly.

 

“Just, y’know,” Tyler shrugs in the dark, “the media attention, recruiting blitz, school shit, expectations to, like, go undefeated your entire high school career, win the Heisman, and be an NFL franchise player for the next 20 years – that whole thing.”

 

Jamie snorts loudly from the other side of the bed, socks him in the shoulder.

 

“I’m serious!” Tyler laughs, but he really is serious. If he hadn’t been already, the giant plastic tub in the corner of Jamie’s room overflowing with recruiting materials from literally every major D1 program in the country definitely drove the point home.

 

It also made him maybe just the tiniest bit envious, but – mostly it made him feel like, _shit, that’s a lot to deal with._

 

“I know there are guys that would live for the whole - being the fucking prize that every major college program in the country is trying to win,” and yes, Tyler is thinking of himself, here, “but I know you. You definitely hate it.”

 

Jamie’s quiet again, long enough that Tyler starts to think maybe he fell asleep after all, but then,

“I really do,” Jamie says quietly, almost a whisper like it’s a secret he shouldn’t be telling, “I hate it a lot.”

 

“Dude.” Tyler scoots closer, knocks his fist into Jamie’s shoulder. “If you’re going to OU why don’t you just commit? I know it wouldn’t, like, put a stop to it entirely, but it would definitely take the pressure off.”

 

Jamie doesn’t respond.

 

“Unless you’re not going to OU,” Tyler tries, just conversationally, and Jamie groans, soft and pained. Tyler feels his eyes go wide, in the dark. He rolls onto his side, up onto his elbow, and thumbs his phone open just for a little light, to see Jamie’s face.

 

“Holy shit,” he breathes, “for real?”

 

“I don’t know,” Jamie says miserably, “I don’t fucking know.”

 

The assumptions around the College Football Universe are, of course Jamie’s going to OU. His parents both went there, his sister goes there. And oh, right, there’s the small matter where his dad was a fucking All-America QB there. Jamie is good enough that all the big programs are still making a run at him even though it’s a long shot, hoping they can convince him to make a different choice – but Tyler doubts even they really believe they’ve got a chance.

 

Oklahoma is in Jamie’s blood, or so the conventional wisdom goes. Tyler feels a little like a shitty friend, that he just made that same assumption. He never even asked, before.

 

“What does your dad say?” he whispers, and Jamie groans again.

 

“He _says_ it’s up to me, but,” he blows out a long breath, and stops there.

 

“But of course he wants you to go to his alma mater,” Tyler finishes for him.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Tyler never knew one word could sound so. _Tired_.

 

It’s like he can _hear_ the weight of the world on Jamie’s shoulders.

 

“What does Jordie say?”

 

Jamie huffs, and Tyler can make out his rolling eyes in the almost-dark.

 

“’ _It’s your life, Chubbs, you do you_.’ Easy for him to say.”

 

Because Jordie’s good, yeah, but not Oklahoma-recruit good.

 

It wasn’t any kind of choice for him, whether or not to go to OU, because Oklahoma wasn’t an option.

He’s already committed to Tech, which is still major, still a Power Five D1 program, but.

 

It’s not fucking Oklahoma.

 

And anyway, even if OU had recruited him, it wouldn’t be the same. He’s not a QB, doesn’t have to listen to all that noise about being The Next Archie and Peyton.

 

“Peyton went to Tennessee,” Tyler points out, like maybe Jamie’s never thought of that.

 

“They hated him for it,” Jamie counters, but Tyler just scoffs.

 

“Who cares what Ole Miss fans think?”

 

“Right, but that’s Ole Miss. We’re talking about _OU fans_. I live right in their backyard, there’s a million of them just in Dallas. I’d have to - . I couldn’t go to another Big 12 school, for sure.”

 

“Says who?!” Tyler demands, affronted on Jamie’s behalf. “They can’t _bully_ you into going to their school by, like, threatening to make your life hell if you don’t do what they want.”

 

Jamie just sighs again, and Tyler realizes, that is in fact exactly what’s happening. These assholes, who call themselves fans, think Jamie owes them something - owes them his talent, his blood sweat and tears, his whole college career, just because his dad played there a million years ago. And if he doesn’t do what they want, they’re going to feel betrayed, even though he never promised them anything, and he doesn’t actually owe them shit. They’ll make his social media feeds a nightmare and call him shitty names and hound him forever. And God forbid he ever play against them – they’ll boo him every time he touches the ball, scream down the house with their hate and contempt for him.

 

No wonder Jamie feels like he couldn’t go to another Big 12 school – he’d have to play them every goddamn year, try to pretend he couldn’t hear the insults, keep his face blank and never, never react.

 

Sure, guys do it all the time – even Peyton had to play Ole Miss twice – but that doesn’t make it fun. Why would you sign up for it, if you don’t have to?

 

“So go to the SEC, or the Big 10,” Tyler tries – once again like maybe Jamie’s never thought of this.

Jamie’s indulgent little chuckle tells him, Jamie _has_ in fact thought of this.

 

“I just wish people didn’t care so much.” Jamie says. “Like, I guess it’s nice to be wanted or whatever? But the idea that whatever you do, a ton of people are gonna hate you for it? It just really sucks.”

 

Nobody wants to be hated, just for living their fucking life. That much, Tyler can definitely understand. And he’s starting to get that he’s not going to fix this problem for Jamie, that there’s nothing new he can suggest, nothing helpful he can say. But he can listen, and just be there, like Jamie was for him, and he figures that’s not nothing.

 

“It really, really sucks,” he confirms, and squeezes his fingers around Jamie’s biceps.

 

“Thanks, Ty,” Jamie whispers, “it’s stupid, but it kinda helps just to have someone listen to me whine about it.”

 

And Tyler figures if that’s all he can do, that’s good enough, for tonight.

 

+++

 

The last regular season home game is Senior night. Coach Ruff’s pre-game speech is about winning it for the Seniors, about making their last regular season game in Stars Stadium a memory they’ll never forget, and everyone goes crazy for it.

 

All the Seniors are introduced individually before the game, along with their parents, and the crowd gives every one of them an enthusiastic standing ovation. It’s emotional for everyone, and Tyler is fucking _hyped._

 

They crush Plano West, and Tyler extends his TD streak to 7 games. They’re 9-0 with one more regular season game to go, and they’ve had 1st place in the District standings locked up for two weeks. Everyone is feeling good.

 

The Goligoskis host a big party after the game for all the players and their families, in honor of the Seniors. Tyler’s Grandma and Grandpa come, and they take over half of a giant restaurant called Gloria’s. Tyler tries pupusas and fried plantains for the first time, coughs over the spicy salsa while the guys laugh at him and call him a lightweight. Jamie knocks their knees together to catch Tyler’s eye, then sticks his straw into his glass of water, holds his finger over the end to trap the water inside then dumps it into the little salsa dish between them. He does it again, then again, then stirs it around with a chip until the salsa has thinned considerably.

 

“There,” he grins. “That’s what my parents used to do for us when we were kids. It’s how babies learn to get used to the heat.”

 

He looks so stupidly smug that Tyler rolls his eyes and knocks their knees together even harder, but he has to admit when he tastes it, the watered-down salsa is much more to his liking.

 

Suddenly Jordie appears, slinging an arm around both of their chairs, and grinning.

 

“Guess what tonight is, boys?”

 

“The night you finally shave that mangy rat off your face?” Jamie guesses, and Tyler snorts.

 

Jordie’s been trying to grow a beard, but it’s patchy at best.

 

There’s a strict no facial hair policy on the team, which Tyler can’t even _imagine_ daring to flout so blatantly, but he figures when you get to the end of your Senior season you probably get a little more ballsy about rule-breaking. It took Coach Ruff a few weeks to even notice, the beginnings were so sparse, but tonight he told Jordie in no uncertain terms, it better be gone by Monday morning.

Tyler’s with Jamie in feeling that there’s no reason to wait that long.

 

“Tonight,” Jordie goes on without comment, “is the night my baby brother gets drunk with me.”

 

“Wrong,” Jamie says flatly.

 

“Right!” Jordie proclaims, right in Jamie’s ear. “It’s Senior night, you have to do what I say.”

 

“That’s not a thing.” Jamie rolls his eyes.

 

“It _is_ a thing, as of now, because I said. And I’m the Senior. And the Captain. And also the big brother.” Jordie looks inordinately pleased with his reasoning.

 

“You can’t even drink here,” Jamie gestures vaguely. “There are parents everywhere.”

 

“People are coming back to our house after this, and then it’s on.” Jordie stands up out of his crouch, pats Jamie and Tyler both on the shoulder.

 

“Get on board, Chubbs!” he finishes cheerfully, then he’s gone.

 

“Idiot,” Jamie shakes his head, but the look on his face is fond.

 

“I’m not getting drunk,” he tells Tyler, as if the very idea is preposterous.

 

But then, he does.

 

Tyler’s grandparents are long gone by the time the whole crowd wraps up at Gloria’s, but when Jamie offers to drive him home Jordie accuses Jamie of trying to escape, and once again claims Jamie has to do what he says.

 

What he says is that Jamie and Tyler are coming with him, so Tyler texts his Grandma to tell her he’s staying at the Benn’s, and Jordie drives them home.

 

Where he proceeds, once his parents have called it a night, to use the combined peer pressure of himself, Daley, Goligoski and Garbutt to get Jamie to take a shot. Then another. Then another.

 

No one tries to make Tyler drink – he’s somehow managed to acquire a reputation as a total straight arrow, which would make his friends in Boston laugh hysterically – but he watches the proceedings with increasing interest, as Jamie’s face starts to go a little blotchy, his eyes glassy and bright.

 

He does a fourth shot, then they all play NCAA 13 for a while. Jamie ends up slumped over the arm of the couch, snoring in no time.

 

“Nope!” Jordie jumps onto the couch next to him and bounces. “Not sleepy time yet, Chubbs!”

 

“Aaaruuugggpphh,” is Jamie’s snuffling, irritated reply, eyes still closed.

 

Jordie hauls him up to his feet and shoves him toward the back door.

 

“Take him outside and get him some fresh air, Seguin,” he instructs, “wake his ass up.”

 

So Tyler dutifully steers Jamie out the back door into the November chill, and they sit on the diving board by the pool for a while, sucking cold air into their lungs.

 

“You’re a pretty boring drunk,” Tyler teases, shouldering into him. Jamie’s warm, and Tyler’s cold, and he wishes he could stay right there, huddled into Jamie’s shoulder.

 

“That’s the idea,” Jamie shrugs, and Tyler raises his eyebrows.

 

“It is?”

 

“If I’m boring maybe they’ll leave me alone about it, stop bugging me all the time about why I’m not drinking.”

 

“Why don’t you, anyway?” Tyler asks, without even stopping to think that’s just the kind of info Jamie probably would have volunteered, if he wanted Tyler to know. “I mean, just curious,” he adds, just to hedge a little.

 

Jamie blows out a long breath; Tyler watches it disappear like smoke into the night air. Jamie worries at his lip with his teeth for a while in the silence, then he cranes his head back and looks up at the stars.

He’s still looking, when he finally speaks.

 

“You never call me Chubbs,” is not what Tyler was expecting, but he can roll with it.

 

“Well. I mean,” Tyler’s never really thought about it, about why, but - “it’s not like you’re – you know.”

He shrugs.

 

“I get maybe you were as a kid or whatever, so maybe it makes sense to the guys who’ve known you since forever. But I mean, _I_ didn’t know you then. To me it doesn’t really fit, I guess? Not the way you are now.”

 

Jamie’s still quiet, still looking up at the stars.

 

“Does it bug you?” Tyler asks quietly. “That they call you that?”

 

Jamie rolls his head side to side, cracks his neck, then cranes his head back again.

 

“Nope.” He shrugs a little, unbothered. “Just noticed you never do.”

 

“At first I didn’t get it at all, because, I mean – y’know.” Tyler says, waving in Jamie’s general direction. “But then I saw your Freshman year book, and it all started to make sense.”

 

He’s looking up at Jamie from under his eyelashes, sly and teasing, ready for an outraged response.

 

“Hey!” Jamie straightens up immediately, his eyes snapping over to Tyler, narrowed. “I was a stud Freshman year, I’ll have you know.”

 

Tyler snorts.

 

“Sure you were, kid,” he pats Jamie’s shoulder, “sure you were.”

 

“Where the hell did you find my Freshman yearbook, anyway?”

 

“I was in the Media Center at lunch, and I was bored, so I was looking at old ones. My Grandparents, my mom, my aunt. And I ended up going through all of them, all the way up through last year.”

 

“Why were you in the Media Center at lunch?” is what Jamie has chosen to focus on. He’s looking at Tyler with a raised eyebrow.

 

Tyler feels inexplicably embarrassed, suddenly.

 

“New kid,” he shrugs, trying to brush it off, “new school, all that. I didn’t really know where to go or what to do, didn’t have anyone to sit with, so I was just killing time, back at the first of the year. Now it’s just habit, I guess.”

 

He feels a little squirmy, admitting that he still spends his lunch in the Media Center like a huge lame loser. He can feel himself blushing under Jamie’s scrutinizing gaze.

 

“It’s not a big deal,” he goes on quickly, overly defensive. “I get most of my homework done in there. Why do you think I barely ever take books home?”

 

“I just thought you were really smart,” Jamie says, totally straight faced like _that’s a thing that makes sense._

 

“Shut up,” Tyler says, and rolls his eyes.

 

“What?” Jamie looks at him searchingly, totally sincere, like he - . Well.

 

Like he really _believes_ it, that Tyler’s. You know, smart or whatever.

 

Which is yet another thing his friends in Boston would find hysterically fucking funny.

 

“Dude,” Tyler scoffs. “I’m not smart.”

 

Jamie just looks at him skeptically.

 

“You made the Honor Roll, first quarter. I saw it in the Stonebridge Star.”

 

Which, _true_ , okay. Tyler’s not ashamed to say he was pretty fucking relieved about it, too, if only to keep his coaches and his Grandparents happy, to show them that he’s _trying_ , that he’s not going to fuck up anymore and they don’t have to worry about him. To show them that he won’t be any trouble, if they’ll just let him stay.

 

He’s not sure when he started worrying about being sent back to Boston, instead of worrying about being sent to Texas in the first place, but he’s pretty sure it was right around the time he caught his first TD pass and Jamie smiled at him. Which of the two made the biggest impact, he really can’t say.

But still - .

 

“I’m scared of what might happen, if I drink,” Jamie says suddenly, voice quiet and urgent. “I can’t let my guard down like that, especially with people around. It’s just – not worth the risk.”

 

“Ohhh,” Tyler nods, because if anyone can understand that, it’s him. “You mean like, someone gets video or pics of you partying and then,” he snaps his fingers, “suddenly maybe you’re one of those _‘character issues’_ guys and your stock drops.”

 

Coach Julien had given Tyler the _character issues_ talk last season, about how he had real talent and might be able to play for a D1 program, but only if he got his shit together, because no one wants to recruit a problem child.

 

Unless they’re a serious blue-chip, five star recruit, like Jamie. Jamie could probably get arrested for murder and still get recruited.

 

“I don’t think you need to worry about that, dude.”

 

“That’s not,” Jamie starts, then he looks at Tyler carefully.

 

“I mean, that would be bad, obviously, but that’s not really. It’s not about that. It’s something else.”

 

He’s still giving Tyler that same look, like he’s searching for something in his face.

 

“Okay,” Tyler says, slow and careful, not sure if maybe the alcohol is hitting Jamie harder than he thought, if maybe that’s what’s making him act so weird.

 

“I don’t - . It’s just.” Jamie looks out into the middle distance, takes a deep breath and lets it out slow, another cloud of glittering crystal smoke in the cold air.

 

“I need to make sure I’m not. I mean. When you drink you get stupid, y’know? Sloppy. Stop being careful. And I have to make sure I don’t accidentally say something or do something careless and then someone might. _Know_.”

 

He stops there with a shuddering sigh and looks down at his hands. The air crackles suddenly, that electric tension that shows up out of nowhere sometimes, between them, and Tyler feels a zip of something in his belly, something hot like dread mixed with anticipation, something that makes his palms feel sweaty despite the cold. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to ask, but he thinks he has to.

 

“Know what?”

 

His voice cracks a little; his throat clicks when he swallows.

 

“You know.” Jamie’s voice is so soft, so low, and when he looks up at Tyler his eyes are big and bright and scared. “Don’t you?”

 

And for the very first time Tyler actually lets himself think _maybe_. Maybe he _does_ know _._

 

“I’m not,” Tyler tries, shakes his head and tries again. “I’m not sure but. I think maybe, yeah.”

 

He pushes his knee against Jamie’s, just a little, just to test. Jamie’s eyes close slow, then flutter back open, and he lets out another deep breath.

 

“I think you do.” He says. Tyler nods, swallows thickly again. He scoots closer, just barely, mentally cursing the rough surface of the diving board that’s made for precisely the opposite of easy sliding.

 

“You know I got kicked out of my old school.”

 

Tyler fiddles around with the zipper of his jacket, bites his lip.

 

“It was, um. There was. An incident.”

 

Jamie just nods, lets him take his time, but he scoots a little, too, so they’re hip to hip now on the diving board, knee to knee and calf to calf. Tyler wants to lean into him so bad he can taste it, but he’s not - .

 

He’s still not sure.

 

“I was drinking and partying a lot, so I was already, y’know. On thin ice, but then. Last summer.”

 

He stops to gnaw on a finger nail for a while, just to catch his breath. He’s never told anyone, never said it out loud to anyone but Brownie, even if he’s known it since.

 

Well, since forever.

 

Still, knowing it doesn’t make saying it easy.

 

“You don’t have to tell me about it,” Jamie says after a while, so fucking sweet and sincere just like he always is, “not right now. Not until you’re ready.” And he knocks his shoulder into Tyler a little, gives him the big eyes and the tiny little smile that make Tyler’s heart flip-flop stupidly.

 

Tyler nods, fast and grateful, the words dying in his throat.

 

“Okay,” he says, still nodding. “Okay, but. You know, right?”

 

“I’m not sure, either,” Jamie says seriously, but then he shoulders into Tyler again, ducks his head and sniffles, shivers. When he looks up, his nose is red and his eyes are still huge, but he doesn’t look so scared anymore.

 

“But I think maybe, yeah,” he mimics, then he grins. Tyler’s breath whooshes out of him in a rush, like he just survived a near death experience.

 

“Yeah,” he nods, a little more certain, and he feels himself start to grin, too.

 

“Yeah,” Jamie confirms, jaw set, like something’s been decided.

 

Tyler just wishes he knew what, exactly, it was.

 

+++

 

Another week goes by.

 

Jamie spends at least a part of every single evening in Tyler’s bedroom, watching tape and picking apart defenses, talking football and nothing else, and generally being as infuriatingly quiet and tight-lipped as always.

 

Occasionally he smiles that tiny secret smile at Tyler, or their knees or shoulders or hands touch accidentally and - . It’s just really confusing. Tyler vacillates wildly between daring to hope that maybe Jamie _likes him_ -likes him, and feeling sick with terror at the prospect of being wrong. But also, equally sick with terror at the prospect of the two of them secretly pining for each other but neither of them ever getting up the courage to talk about it and missing out on their opportunity to do, like – anything.

 

Everything. _Whatever_.

 

Something’s got to give, and he’s afraid it’s going to have to be him, because Jamie’s already said more on the topic than Tyler ever could have realistically hoped for or expected, and waiting for him to bring it up again is going to give Tyler an actual legit heart attack, very soon. But at the same time, how can Tyler bring it up? How can he say, to _Jamie Benn_ – local hero, Rivals.com number 1 QB recruit in the state, and 3-year-long girlfriend haver – the things he’d have to say, to find out if Jamie meant what Tyler hopes he meant, out by his pool last weekend?

 

It’s just – it’s impossible. That’s all there is to it.

 

Practice every day is the only relief from the emotions swirling inside his own head, and it feels good to hit someone, to get hit, to throw his body around and sweat out his frustrations, to the extent that’s a thing that’s even possible.

 

When that fails, he jerks off furiously. Which is harder to do with Jamie around so much, so he mostly has to make do with the shower in the morning.

 

But after they win on Friday night, their last regular season game, and after Jamie spends the night in Tyler’s bed without talking about anything other than football – again - and after they go to Saturday practice together and for lunch at Whataburger with the team after that and to the Benn’s for video games with a bunch of the guys later and Roussel takes Tyler home at midnight - .

 

After all that, Tyler tucks himself into bed with his laptop and a brand new video from the Dorm Room guys.

 

It starts off pretty standard – the camera at the foot of the bed, the two boys naked and faces not visible, the bigger tattooed guy on his back and his smaller, paler boyfriend kneeling between his legs, hunched over and blowing him. They switch it up pretty quick, the guy on his knees scooting up to straddle the guy on the bottom, lowering himself down onto his hard, waiting cock. It’s hot as always – just the way they touch each other, the sounds of them kissing and heavy breathing and soft groaning, whispering to each other so low Tyler can’t even make out the words – it all makes it feel so intimate, so soft and _real_ , not porn-fake and contrived. There’s no loud, aggressive grunting or over-the-top moaning, no filthy dirty talk, not that Tyler’s opposed to any of those things necessarily. It’s just – it’s _sweet_ , maybe, if two guys smashing on camera then posting it on the internet can be sweet.

 

Tyler thinks it can.

 

Tyler slides his hand into his pants as the guy on the bottom gropes possessively at his boyfriend’s ass, his big hands splayed across the pale skin, fingers sliding into his crack to feel the place where they’re joined together, then reaching further down to rub at his own balls. Something about it makes Tyler’s stomach swoop, makes him have to squeeze hard around the base of his cock to keep things from getting away from him too fast.

 

They go on like that for a while before they switch it up again, the smaller guy lying face down with his shoulders to the bed, legs spread wide, and the tattooed guy straddling his raised hips. The guy on top stands over the boy below, rubbing his hole and his ass with those big hands, just long enough so you can really appreciate the thick thighs and perfect ass of the bigger guy before he leans in and starts fucking down into the other boy’s upturned ass. The top guy lowers himself down, eventually, so he’s draped over his boyfriend, so he can kiss the back of his neck and shoulders. The boy on the bottom snakes his hand down to grasp his own cock, rubbing and stroking it between his open thighs where the camera can see everything, then the fingers of his other hand come into view, grasping at the back of his boyfriend’s thigh like he’s urging him deeper, like he’s silently begging for more of his cock, and it’s just – it’s too much. Tyler gives up any pretense of taking things slow, just jacks his cock fast and hard, and comes with a strangled sigh of relief.

 

He lies there for a while longer, watches them still going at it on the screen while he catches his breath, before he finally stops the video with 5 minutes left and closes out of the site, scrubs his history and closes his laptop.

 

He squeezes idly at his spent cock, still riding out the tingly, swoopy aftershocks that shoot through him when he wonders if Jamie would ever want to fuck him like that.

 

And God, just the possibility that maybe he really _would_ , like, for real, not just in Tyler’s embarrassingly soft and previously assumed to be totally unrealistic fantasies. It’s – it’s a lot. Enough that it would probably keep him awake thinking about it more, if he hadn’t just come his brains out. As it is, he falls asleep right there, sticky pants and all, laptop still on his chest.

 

In the morning he wakes up to muffins on the counter next to a note from his Grandma that they’ve gone to church, and he takes two muffins and Gatorade back to his room and finishes that video, still not sure if it’s pathetic or not to think about Jamie while he does it.

 

+++

 

Tyler’s been in bed for two hours, trying and failing to sleep, when the text comes in.

_U up?_

 

He has to snort, because he’d just been thinking about maybe jerking off just so he can get some sleep, but only in Tyler’s wildest dreams would Jamie text _u up_ and actually mean it _that way_.

 

Still, their first playoff game is tomorrow, and Tyler’s more nervous than he’s been since the first game of the season. He figures tossing and turning isn’t working, so.

_Can’t sleep_ , he sends back.

_Me either_ , is the reply. _Wanna watch some video? I’ve got Skyline/LH._

 

Jamie probably has game tape on every team in the state by now.

 

 _Can’t hurt_ , he sends back, and 15 minutes later he’s padding through the darkened house to let Jamie in.

 

They watch the first half of the game, and it’s clear that Lake Highlands is an obviously inferior team to Stonebridge, but somehow that doesn’t calm the queasiness in Tyler’s stomach. He knows it’s just nerves, anticipation that will burn off as soon as the adrenaline hits at game time, but knowing that’s not going to help him sleep tonight.

 

They take a bathroom break at the half, and Tyler goes to the kitchen for bottled water and two of the cranberry oat bars his grandma made with added protein powder, just for Tyler and Jamie.

 

When he gets back to his room, Jamie’s on his back on the bed, phone clutched to his chest, completely zonked out cold. Tyler’s first thought is _good_.

 

He picks up his laptop, careful not to jostle the bed, clicks it closed as quietly as possible and moves it to his dresser. He eats both oat bars - not like Jamie’s going to eat his - and drinks some water by the bathroom light, brushes his teeth for the second time tonight. Then he pulls the comforter out of the closet, the one that used to be on the bed before Tyler moved in and brought his own stuff with him. Jamie’s on top of the covers, but it’s November now, too cold to let him sleep like that. So Tyler spreads the comforter open across the foot of the bed, then pulls it up over Jamie.

 

Jamie’s face is smooth and relaxed, completely worry free for the first time in weeks. Tyler can’t help the dumb, soft smile that spreads over his face. He’s still surprised sometimes by the size and scope of his crush on Jamie, taken aback by how deep it goes. Not like he hasn’t _known_ it, since literally the first time Jamie spoke to him, but it’s funny how much that crush makes him want things like for Jamie to get enough sleep, to not be worried and stressed, to win and get the credit that he deserves because he’s the best and everyone should acknowledge that, like, all the time, no exceptions. But who knew a dumb crush could make him want those things even more, maybe, than it makes him want things like Jamie’s mouth on his, or Jamie’s body pressed against him or Jamie’s dick, just, wherever.

 

He puts the bottle of water down on the bedside table and leans over to try – gently – to tug Jamie’s phone out of his hand. Inexplicably, and without, like, asking permission from his _brain_ , his free hand slides along Jamie’s cheek while he does it. And it doesn’t even make _sense_ , like wtf would possess him to do something so totally creepy and inappropriate? But of course that’s when Jamie opens his eyes, because of course it is.

 

Tyler just stares for a second, wide-eyed and caught out - his fingers splayed tellingly along the soft skin under Jamie’s ear, thumb on his cheek - then he snatches his hand away from Jamie’s face, feels his own turning red as he clears his throat.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles gruffly, wagging Jamie’s phone at him as if that explains his behavior, “didn’t wanna wake you up, just didn’t want you to roll over on it in the night, or whatever.”

 

As he puts the phone down on the bedside table, he feels Jamie’s fingers curl around the wrist of his rogue hand. His eyes dart to Jamie’s face, alarmed.

 

“Ty,” Jamie says, and blinks up at him with this. _Look_. That says so fucking clearly, he knows everything - all the truths Tyler hasn’t had the balls to tell him - and Tyler feels like he might puke. Suddenly all the things he’s been letting himself think about and hope for in the last several weeks, since that night by Jamie’s pool, seem crazy, far-fetched, totally impossible.

 

Suddenly he’s sure he’s misunderstood everything, he’s gotten it all wrong, and Jamie’s going to _hate_ him.

 

“I said I’m sorry,” Tyler blurts, panicky, “I didn’t mean - .”

 

“Shut up,” Jamie cuts him off, and tugs on his arm. “C’mere”

 

“Come where?” Tyler asks dumbly, and Jamie just keeps looking at him, so fucking earnest, and tugs again, harder this time, more insistent.

 

“I don’t know what you – , “ Tyler starts, stubbornly disbelieving. He’s got one knee on the bed now, right next to Jamie’s hip, but he’s still hesitating. Jamie lets go of his wrist only to wrap the other hand around the back of his neck and pull again, until Tyler topples down onto him. Jamie’s arms go around him, tight and strong, and Tyler doesn’t – he can’t even - .

 

“I don’t understand,” he says into Jamie’s shoulder, still dumbstruck, but then Jamie’s voice is right in his ear, hot breath whispering _shut up,_ _yes you do_ , so – yeah.

 

So Tyler shuts up.

 

In the low light from the bathroom, everything shadowy and dim, Tyler is quiet while Jamie presses his nose into Tyler’s neck, runs his hands up and down Tyler’s back, wraps his fingers around the back of one of Tyler’s thighs and pull him in tight at the hips, so their bodies are flush together. He doesn’t say a word when Jamie yanks the comforter from in between them and rolls them over on the bed, wedges his thick thigh in between Tyler’s own and grinds down against him.

 

He tries to just let it happen, to make it clear that he’s here for whatever Jamie needs by remaining pliant and silent, tries to just enjoy the ride in case it’s the only time it ever happens, but the temptation is too great, the need too strong. He can’t keep himself from pushing up greedily against the heat of Jamie’s body, from chasing the sweet friction of his dick sliding inside his sweats, sweats catching and stuttering against the fabric of Jamie’s jeans. He can’t keep from holding onto Jamie’s ass with both hands, pulling him down in perfect counter-pressure to the movement of his own hips, can’t hold in the little sighs and hitched breaths that are forced out of him, with the weight and the shock of Jamie’s body on top of his.

 

His head is thrown back into the pillows, Jamie’s mouth open and wet against his neck when he comes, bucking and whining.

 

When he’s finally wrung out and limp, Jamie’s still grinding into him, slow and steady as ever, heavy-breathing against his throat, perfectly quiet but for a few short, cut off huffs, then he shivers. His hips press down hard, one last time, and he grinds into the cradle of Tyler’s hip bone - then he’s still.

 

They pant against each other, and as Tyler slowly comes back to full consciousness he tries to remind himself to be still and quiet as long as he can, but shit, still and quiet aren’t exactly in his wheel house. It’s maybe a minute, minute and half tops before his resolve starts to crumble. Jamie’s still lying on top of him, Tyler’s hands still resting on his ass, when he just can’t hold his tongue any longer.

 

“So that was, uh. Unexpected?” He coughs self-consciously against Jamie’s shoulder.

 

Jamie lifts his head and smiles his little barely-there smile in the dark.

 

“But was it though?” He asks, and then he nuzzles his face under Tyler’s jaw, and Tyler’s stomach swoops dangerously, heat pooling in his groin like he didn’t _just_ come less than three minutes ago.

 

He shudders, and tightens his hands on Jamie’s ass.

 

“To me it was,” he whispers. “I thought. I mean, I thought it was maybe. Probably. Just me.”

 

“Not just you.”

 

Jamie shakes his head emphatically, his nose sliding against Tyler’s throat, his hair tickling Tyler’s nose. Tyler’s heart swells to roughly 9 times its normal size, his chest so tight he can barely breathe.

 

“Oh,” is his brilliant response.

 

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” Jamie says to Tyler’s neck. “We should probably sleep.”

 

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees. “Although – clean up, then sleep.”

 

Jamie snorts, but nods.

 

“Probably.”

 

Jamie rolls off when Tyler shoves at him, and Tyler turns on a lamp then goes to dig around in the bathroom drawer for the packet of wet wipes. He comes back with two, tosses one to Jamie, then hesitates.

 

If Tyler was alone, he’d just strip out of his PJ pants, clean himself up with the wet wipe, and put on some clean pants. He feels weirdly shy about it with Jamie sitting on the bed, stripped out of his jeans now but still in his t-shirt and underwear.

 

Underwear that he just ruined by grinding against Tyler’s dick until they both came. _God._

 

Tyler swallows hard, but shy isn’t really a natural state for him - shameless is more his jam - plus he doesn’t want to make it even more awkward by _acting_ awkward. So he resolves to act as if everything’s perfectly normal, and do exactly what he’d normally do. He pulls a pair of clean pants out of his drawer, then digs out a pair of boxer briefs as well, holds them out to Jamie.

 

“Don’t know if these will fit that great, but – you want?”

 

Jamie’s face goes red, and he swallows thickly, but he reaches for the underwear.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Tyler just ignores the way his face feels like fire as he kicks off his pants and scrubs at his belly and his groin with the wet wipe, allowing himself to turn halfway - but not all the way - away from Jamie, then pulls on the clean pants.

 

He’s cursing himself for turning on the lamp, wishing he’d left them both with the relative comfort and privacy of the almost-darkness, when he looks up and finds that Jamie has his back turned and his underwear off. Tyler boldly stares at his ass, immediately changing his mind about the lamp while the thought that he’s had his hands on that thing sends a shiver through him.

 

Then he’s forced to watch Jamie shimmy into Tyler’s too-tight underwear, which just makes him want to shove Jamie back onto the bed and climb on top of him again. But it’s 1 a.m. and they’ve got school, and their first playoff game, like, _today_ , so instead of doing that he goes to turn off the bathroom light, climbs into his bed next to Jamie. He flips off the lamp and lies there, still and wide awake.

 

Then Jamie’s little finger brushes Tyler’s under the comforter, tentatively curling over and around, and Tyler feels his heart beat kick up again just from the simple movement. His stomach flutters wildly, and there’s no way in hell he’s ever going to sleep now for worrying about what it all means, if it means anything, and what will happen tomorrow.

 

But whatever does happen, however shit might have just gotten fucked up beyond repair, all Tyler can think as he lies there in the dark is with Jamie’s finger wrapped around his own is, _worth it._

 

+++

 

When the alarm goes off Jamie doesn’t wake up, so Tyler leaves him to sleep, showers and gets dressed. He’s still sleeping soundly when Tyler’s done, so he gives himself about 30 seconds to stare like a blatant creep at Jamie’s still, calm, relaxed face, at the smooth skin of his shoulder above the comforter, to think how fucking beautiful he is and how the weight of him holding Tyler down to the bed last night was basically the best thing that’s ever happened in life, before he has to wake Jamie and face whatever comes.

 

“Hey,” He stays safely at the end of the bed, grabs Jamie’s ankle through the bedding and gives him a shake, “it’s 8:00, man. Time to wake up.”

 

Then he steps back and away as Jamie stirs, so they’re very obviously not touching. Just in case.

 

“Oh, shit,” Jamie groans, “I slept _hard_.” He kicks the blankets off and sits up all in one motion, then suddenly goes still. Tyler can almost _feel_ Jamie remembering last night, and he sets his jaw, schools his face into a purposely bland expression, steels himself to nonchalantly go along with whatever brush-off platitudes or awkward avoidance Jamie has on tap for him this morning.

 

As they say in Texas (Tyler has learned), this ain’t his first rodeo.

 

But Jamie just grins bashfully at him from under his eyelashes, and asks if it’s cool if he jumps in the shower really fast.

 

Jamie showers and then they pack up their stuff, just like any other morning. When they head out to the kitchen, Tyler’s Grandma looks stricken.

 

“Jamie! Lands, I didn’t know you’d be here – I only wrapped up two breakfast biscuits.”

 

“It’s fine, Grandma,” Tyler starts, while Jamie says, “Sorry, I came over kinda late.”

 

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” she says, because Jamie is like a living, breathing Get Out of Jail Free card – it’s like no matter where he goes, he’s always welcome, and no matter what he does, everyone loves him.

 

“Let me put a few more together. I can make more for us after you boys are out the door.”

 

“It’s really okay,” Jamie tries again, as if he really thinks Tyler’s Grandma would send Stonebridge’s starting QB out into the world on game day without a hearty breakfast. She’s clearly not having it, just waves a hand in his general direction as if to say _nonsense_. She’s already slicing open two more biscuits, piling them with the remaining scrambled eggs and bacon that are sitting on the stove top, laying slices of cheese over the top before she pops the other half of the biscuit on and wraps the whole thing in foil. She puts two of her protein powder oat bars into one Ziploc bag, and two more into another, and asks them both _milk or juice_?

 

They stash the biscuits and bars and drinks in their bags, and she hugs and kisses them both.

 

“Good luck tonight,” she says to Jamie, before she grabs Tyler and holds him tight. “We’ll see you there, baby. Your Aunt Jess has had the kids making signs to hold up for you, so you be sure to look for them in the stands and wave if you can, okay? They’re just so excited to tell their little friends that their cousin’s on the team, I’ll tell you what.”

 

His Grandpa puts down his paper, stands up and shakes Jamie’s hand, then pats Tyler on the back.

 

“Let’s give ‘em hell tonight, boys,” he says, and they both dutifully respond with _yes, sir._

Jamie turns up the radio in the truck on the way in, _Mike and Mike_ arguing about whether Russell Wilson and the Seahawks are ready to go all the way, so they don’t really talk. Every time their eyes meet Jamie looks away fast and blushes, but he also has a little smile playing at the corner of his mouth, which seems – potentially promising? Or, not _not_ promising, at least. Tyler’s not ready to get his hopes all the way up yet, no matter what Jamie said last night, but at least so far nothing seems too totally ruined, so he’ll take it.

 

All day long at school people are wishing him good luck, holding out fists and hands for him to tap, reminding him that the biggest game of the year is only a few hours away. He feels queasy and nervous, but the truth is the butterflies running riot in his stomach are all about Jamie – he’s barely even thought about the game since the instant Jamie pulled him down onto the bed last night. Instead his mind just keeps replaying the entire scene over and over, sending shivery chills up his spine every single time he imagines it again.

 

He gets a restroom pass in 2nd period and goes to jerk off in the bathroom, just to take the edge off. With the real life porn he’s got playing in his head, the whole endeavor takes about 7 minutes round trip, not even long enough to seems suspicious.

 

He still feels jittery as he makes his way across the street to the Activity Center and into the locker room before game time, the smiles he and Jamie exchange still fleeting and jumpy, and Tyler is starting to wonder if he’s gonna be able to get his head on straight for this fucking game.

 

But then his pads go over his head and It’s like something in his brain settles into place along with them settling onto his shoulders like a suit of armor. By the time his helmet goes on he feels steady, sure, locked and loaded like always. Jamie gives his facemask a shake before they run out on the field at game time, just like he does with all his backs and receivers before every game, and it’s fine, it’s good, Tyler yelling _let’s do this_ just like every week. He somehow manages to keep his blinders on and focus on football, manages to look Jamie in the eye and give him the non-verbal signals he needs, to be in the right places at the right times and give him a good target, and generally to do all the same things that have helped them get this far to begin with.

 

They practically run Lake Highlands off the field, win 56 to 13, and even though Tyler scores twice and they win their first playoff game, it’s like the second the clock runs out the switch flips again and he’s right back to not being able to keep his mind on anything but Jamie. He dresses as fast as he can, heads out to say hi to his family and accept their congratulations, autographs his little cousins’ signs that say RUN TYLER RUN and SEGUIN #91, and Tyler makes a big deal about how they were good luck, makes them promise to bring them to the next game too. But the whole time all he’s really doing is waiting for Jamie to look at him, or smile at him, or otherwise give him some sign about what comes next.

 

Tyler’s hands are sweaty, his pulse is racing as Jamie comes his way, shakes Tyler’s Grandpa’s hand and hugs his Grandma.

 

“Are you coming with us, baby?” His Grandma asks, “or are you running off with your friends?”

 

“Uh, I guess. Um.” Tyler stalls awkwardly, not sure what to say. Usually he’d assume he’s going wherever Jamie’s taking him, but. Well.

 

“The guys are going to eat, but I’m pretty wiped,” Jamie says, his eyes on Tyler. “I think I’ll probably just go home and check out the scores from tonight, maybe look at the game tape.”

 

Normally they do that together, but nothing about today is normal. Tyler carefully arranges his face into his best attempt at chill, and nods slowly.

 

“Sure,” he says, “that’s cool.”

 

Tyler hauls his bag up onto his shoulder and gives a little wave.

 

“I guess I’ll see you in the morning.” He tries to make the smile he gives Jamie look real, genuine, but he can tell he’s failing by the look on Jamie’s face. He looks pained, or something.

 

Then he says,

 

“You, um,” and shuffles his feet a little, licks his lips. “You didn’t want to come?”

 

“Oh.” Tyler suddenly feels like he can’t quite catch his breath. “Yeah, uh. For sure, that sounds good. If you’re up for company, or whatever.”

 

Jamie rolls his eyes, gives him that little half-grin, and Tyler’s stomach flip-flops violently.

 

+++

 

Jamie sings to the radio on the way home - a softer, less douchey brand of country that he plays when Tyler’s in the car because it’s significantly less offensive to Tyler’s sensibilities than the bro country that his teammates fucking love to blast any time they’re not playing hip hop instead.

 

Jamie taps on the steering wheel, murmurs along as the singer is crooning _Just a sad song playing on a radio station / Tears still fallin’, heart still breakin’ cause you’re hangin’ on,_ and Tyler’s stomach flip-flops again.

 

They get home to a quiet house, Jamie whispering in the dark as they make their way to his room, saying that Jordie’s out with the guys and his parents are probably already in bed, and this time when Tyler’s stomach flip-flops, it doesn’t really stop. He feels hot all over, jittery and a little queasy; his mouth is dry and his heart is beating a jackrabbit pace.

 

By the time he’s sitting on Jamie’s bed, watching him cue up the tape from tonight, he thinks he might jump out of his skin.

 

Jamie comes to sit on the other side of the bed, leans back against the headboard, but he doesn’t start the video. Instead he blows out a shuddery breath, and looks resolutely at Tyler.

 

“We should talk,” he says, tentative. “Right?”

 

“Sure.” Tyler struggles to swallow past the lump in his throat. “I mean, yeah, probably.”

 

Jamie looks down at his hands, and nods. He takes a deep breath.

 

“You said you thought maybe it was just you.” He looks up, those big eyes shining and dark and scared, and Tyler would say you could drown in them, if he was prone to being dramatic like that.

 

“And I said it wasn’t. Not just you, I mean.” Then he adds, “last night,” like maybe Tyler isn’t clear on what he’s talking about.

 

“Right,” Tyler confirms. “So.”

 

He’s still not sure which way this is going to go, and he might die soon if Jamie doesn’t put him out of his misery.

 

“So,” Jamie swallows. “I don’t. I mean, I didn’t really want to watch game tape.”

 

Tyler’s head jerks up, at that, and Jamie blushes. Tyler feels the butterflies bust loose in his gut again, feels like there’s a hot air balloon inflating in his chest.

 

“Because you wanted to talk?” Tyler tries, and Jamie nods.

 

“I just wanted to make sure we were - clear. I mean, on the same page. I know things today were kind of weird but I just. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you, I mean.”

 

His blush gets deeper, and Tyler can feel a grin forming on his mouth, can’t help it.

 

“Yeah,” he nods, feeling suddenly emboldened by Jamie’s awkward overtures, “I mean, same. For me, today – about you.”

 

Jamie ducks his head, but Tyler can see him smiling into his chest, and he’s so fucking adorable Tyler seriously can’t stand it, and he’s saying - .

 

Holy shit.

 

Tyler doesn’t think, he just moves on instinct. He pushes up and knee-walks across the foot and a half of space between them, watches Jamie look up at him, mouth open and eyes dark. Tyler swings a leg over Jamie’s, anchors his hands to Jamie’s shoulders.

 

He hears the sharp intake of breath as he settles himself in Jamie’s lap, feels Jamie’s hands come to rest on his hips, and he shivers, lets their foreheads fall together, their noses brushing softly.

 

“Tell me what you were thinking about today.” Tyler hopes he doesn’t sound like he’s begging.

 

Jamie lets out a little whimper, his eyes closed.

 

“Just you,” he says, so soft it’s almost a whisper, “just this – being like this, close to you and. And, touching you.”

 

“What about me touching you?” Tyler teases gently, feeling more confident by the second, and Jamie’s fingers squeeze tighter on his hips.

 

“That’s, uh.” Jamie’s eyes flutter open momentarily, then close again, like he can’t make himself look at Tyler and talk to him at the same time. “That too, yeah.”

 

“Like this?” Tyler asks, his hands running up under Jamie’s green Stonebridge hoodie, under the t-shirt beneath it to find the hot skin of his belly, to skate palms up his sides and trace fingers over his ribs.

 

Jamie shivers, murmurs _oh, God_ under his breath, barely audible _._

 

“I haven’t,” Jamie starts, and his eyes flutter again. “I mean, I’ve never. Y’know, before.”

 

Tyler sits back a little, so he can see Jamie’s face. He keeps his hands right where they are, up under Jamie’s shirt.

 

“You mean with a guy?”

 

Jamie swallows, still wide-eyed, and nods. “Have you?”

 

Tyler just shrugs self-consciously; he can feel himself blushing.

 

“A little,” he admits, still halfway expecting to find out this is all some big misunderstanding or some shit, because he’s never been this lucky.

 

“Is it, I dunno. Too weird? Like maybe you’re not sure if - ,” Tyler says awkwardly, but Jamie cuts him off.

 

“I’m sure, I - .” His fingers squeeze again on Tyler’s hips, urgent. “I’m definitely, yeah. Sure. Just nervous, I guess. Sorry.”

 

He blushes again, some more, and Tyler feels a wave of fondness wash over him, quelling the fire of arousal in his belly just the tiniest bit.

 

“Hey,” Tyler nuzzles his nose in under Jamie’s ear, talks low and soft right against his skin, “I get it, but it’s just me. And I’m, like, crazy into you, so. Not like you need to impress me, eh?”

 

Jamie manages to snort a little.

 

“Oh I don’t, huh?” There’s a tease in his voice. “Guess I won’t bother putting in any effort then.”

 

“Well. To be fair,” Tyler keeps his face tucked against Jamie’s neck while his fingers skim down to the waistband of his sweats, “you did put in most of the effort last night, so. I got this one.”

 

Jamie’s stomach flutters under Tyler’s hands, and his breathing goes harsh and fast as Tyler brings their mouths together, slow and soft. Jamie’s very, very still.

 

“This is okay, right?” Tyler whispers, just to be sure. Just because it’s still surreal, still hard to believe that Jamie actually - .

 

“Please,” Jamie whimpers, and _Jesus_.

 

Jamie actually wants Tyler, the same way Tyler wants Jamie, and that’s just. It’s just - way too much to process right now.                                             

 

Tyler kisses him again, tugs on the elastic of Jamie’s pants and eases his fingers just underneath. Then Tyler gets his hand around Jamie’s hard cock and wow, yeah, it’s _definitely_ too much to process. Pun fucking intended.

 

Tyler feels like his skin is on fire, he’s so turned on just from Jamie’s dick in his hand. He jacks it slow and loose, rolling his crotch against Jamie’s hip in the same unhurried rhythm, and lets his lips ghost over Jamie’s neck, just below his jaw.

 

“Tell me how you like it,” he whispers, “is this - ?”

 

“’s good,” Jamie drawls, voice gone so low it’s almost a growl, “Ty, shit, ‘s so fucking good, _please_.”

 

His fingers just keep flexing and squeezing around Tyler’s hips, his eyes closed, mouth open and wet. His hips have started to jerk with the motion of Tyler’s hand, until Tyler’s not sure if it’s the thrusting of Jamie’s hips that’s speeding his strokes, or the speed of his strokes that’s increasing the urgency of Jamie’s movements, but the pace builds none the less, until Tyler is jerking in short, repetitive motions, Jamie squirming frantically under him.

 

“Are you gonna?” Tyler pants, and Jamie nods, quick and emphatic.

 

“Yeah, gonna, yeah,” he grunts, and Tyler pulls his face back from where it’s been tucked up against Jamie’s neck, rocks back enough so he can – .

 

“Wanna see,” Tyler whispers, eyes trained on Jamie’s cock in his hand, the shiny pink head sliding up and down in his fist.

 

Jamie lets out a whimpering, breathy groan. He raises his hips with a jolt, sharp and pronounced, and he huffs _uh, uh_ , almost like he’s in pain. His cock jerks in Tyler’s hand, then spills all over his fingers.

 

“Yeah, come on,” Tyler says, and keeps stroking his wet, sticky fingers up and down Jamie’s twitching dick, loose and gentle, using the slick to ease the friction as he’s working Jamie through it. “So hot, you don’t even know.”

 

“Tyler, oh my _god_ ,” Jamie groans, and his cock jerks again, spits one last dribble of come onto Tyler’s skin. One of Jamie’s hands slides up to the back of Tyler’s neck, pulls him close so Jamie can tuck his face against Tyler’s shoulder. “You can’t just _say_ that.”

 

“Say you’re hot?” Tyler asks, and Jamie whimpers, “Or say I wanna see you come?”

 

“Fuck,” Jamie breathes without answering, and attaches his mouth to Tyler’s again, fingers fumbling at the bottom of Tyler’s shirt.

 

Tyler raises his arms and lets Jamie pull it off him, then reaches for it to wipe his filthy hand, but Jamie’s already tossing it off the bed.

 

“Oh, I can -,” Jamie says, when he realizes, but Tyler just shrugs, smears his sticky fingers across his own belly.

 

“Are you serious right now,” Jamie groans, eyes riveted on Tyler’s stomach where it’s streaked with the shiny remnants of Jamie’s come.

 

“What?” Tyler grins, all innocence.

 

“You look,” Jamie starts, then stops and swallows. Tyler feels his heart kick against his ribs.

 

“How do I look?” He asks, and Jamie suddenly hauls him in close, the mess on his belly be damned.

 

They’re making out _hard_ , Jamie’s hands groping his ass while Tyler humps against him, just this side of desperately, when they hear a door slam.

 

“Shit,” Jamie jerks back, eyes wide and a little dazed looking. “Jordie.”

 

“Fuck,” Tyler agrees with a groan, and scrambles up out of Jamie’s lap. Jamie rushes to hit play on the game while Tyler finds his shirt and pulls it back on as fast as he can. His dick hasn’t gotten the message that sexy time is over, so he adjusts himself as best he can and dives onto the bed on his front, his feet up on the pillows and his face to the foot of the bed, toward the TV. The sounds of Jordie rummaging around in the kitchen, then shuffling down the hall are audible through the closed bedroom door.

 

“Hey nerds,” Jordie yells from the hall, followed in rapid succession by two loud kicks to the door, then it bursts open without further warning. “What are you losers doing?”

 

Jamie rolls his eyes and nods at the TV.

 

“What’s it look like?”

 

“Y’know,” Tyler says, “just reliving the glory.”

 

Jordie snorts.

 

“We just lived the glory like, legit 3 hours ago. You dorks need to get a life that includes something besides football, and football.”

 

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want to learn something, or try to get better or anything,” Jamie deadpans, and Tyler laughs.

 

“That’s what Saturday Morning Film Sesh is for, dummy,” Jordie gives Jamie a finger gun, “and bee tee dubs that will be starting in,” he checks his phone, “10 hours, so you kids don’t stay up too late.”

 

He points his finger gun at Tyler.

 

“Idiot,” Jamie says, as Jordie backs out of the room and closes the door.

 

They watch the game in silence for a while, before Jamie’s hand lands on the back of Tyler’s calf. Tyler looks back over his shoulder, to where Jamie’s sitting where he’s been all night, propped against the headboard.

 

“Sorry,” Jamie says, soft, “about – y’know.”

 

“No worries,” Tyler shrugs, but Jamie’s chewing on his lip, looking nervous.

 

“What?”

 

“Just,” he squeezes Tyler’s leg, “I’m not sure if Jordie’s asleep yet, but.”

 

Tyler grins at him as he blushes.

 

“It can wait, dude. I won’t die or anything.”

 

Jamie nods silently, but then he leans over to snick the lamp off, so the only light in the room is the TV. He scoots a little closer, slouches down a little more, and this time when his hand lands on Tyler’s leg it’s higher up, past his knee. His fingers knead carefully at the fabric of Tyler’s sweats, making it skim along his skin.

 

“Let’s just finish the game,” Jamie whispers in the dark. “Then - .”

 

“Sure,” Tyler manages, forcing himself to breathe, and keeps his eyes trained on the screen.

 

Jamie’s fingers keep skating across the back of Tyler’s thigh in the dark, and he spends the whole fourth quarter trying not to blatantly hump the bed. By the time the game’s over and they’re lying face to face under the blankets of Jamie’s bed, by the time Jamie’s mouth is on his again and Jamie’s hand finally slides into Tyler’s sweats, he comes so fast it’s embarrassing.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispers against Jamie’s mouth, but Jamie groans _holy shit_ like he’s in pain or something, and wipes his hand on Tyler’s stomach, right over the same spot Tyler wiped his own filthy hand earlier.

 

“Hey!” Tyler squawks, and Jamie snorts, but just keeps kissing him until he forgets to care about anything else.

 

+++

 

The thing about Jamie is – he’s a total Type A person. Tenacious, determined, self-disciplined. It’s what makes him a great quarterback, and a good student, a generally responsible and dependable person, and every parent, teacher and coach’s wet dream.

 

Tyler is also tenacious and determined, and focused, which is often similar, yet technically not actually the same thing as being self-disciplined. Self-disciplined Tyler is not, at least not historically, and _definitely_ not compared to Jamie, but single-minded focus? That, he’s all about.

 

Somewhere in the last week and a half, in between all the sneaking around and making out and hand jobs, they made it through another round of the playoffs – but honestly Tyler barely even noticed. He’s been focused on Jamie, or more specifically – to be fair - on Jamie’s hands and mouth and cock, so even when they’re at practice, or watching film, or working out, he’s still just thinking about Jamie, watching Jamie.

 

Luckily, watching Jamie is kind of his job on the field, so he had two more TD’s in last week’s game, another lopsided affair where Stonebridge won by 30 points. Which is nice and all, but to be real, Tyler’s number one concern as soon as the game ended was how fast he could get Jamie back to his house and into his bed, so they could celebrate together, just the two of them.

 

Tenacity, determination and self-discipline are all pretty hot, as personality traits go, and Tyler can appreciate that. But for now – just temporarily – he kind of wishes Jamie would let the whole discipline thing slide just a little.

 

Because while Tyler’s busy thinking about how he can get Jamie alone, about where they can go that’s dark or quiet or secluded or preferably all three, or about when’s the next time they can be together somewhere with a door that closes, Jamie is still wasting time thinking about things like school and homework. It’s starting to be a real fucking buzz kill.

 

“Come _on_ ,” Tyler whines, and it sounds a lot like begging but he doesn’t really care, at least not enough to stop. “Just for a little while.”

 

They’re in the Bronco in Tyler’s driveway on Monday afternoon, and Jamie’s refusing to come in.

 

“You know I won’t get my homework done if I come in there,” Jamie’s head tilts, his eyes are fond, but he’s not budging.

 

“We can be fast,” Tyler puts a little gravel in his voice, tries for sexy this time instead of pathetic and needy. “Just give me 15 minutes,” he murmurs, leaning over close to Jamie’s ear, “promise I’ll make it good.” His left hand skates high up on Jamie’s thigh, stopping just short of pawing at his crotch right out in broad daylight.

 

“Tyler,” Jamie groans, and he squirms a little under Tyler’s touch.

 

“Been thinking about it all day.” Tyler’s right hand reaches down to cup the beginnings of his own erection, making it obvious in his sweats.

 

Jamie’s eyes are trained on Tyler’s lap, and his tongue dips out to wet his lip. Tyler gives his dick a little squeeze, gives a little moan for effect, but he sees immediately that was the wrong move.

 

At the sound, Jamie’s eyes snap up, and he gives his head a shake like Tyler’s groan broke him out of his reverie.

 

“I’ll text you as soon as I’m done. I’ll come back over, I promise.”

 

Tyler knows that tone, the stubborn set of Jamie’s jaw. He knows there’s no point fighting it.

 

“Ugh,” he flops back against the passenger seat and squeezes his dick again. “You’re the worst tease, _God_.”

 

Jamie just rolls his eyes and shoves at Tyler’s shoulder.

 

“I’m a tease just because you have to wait a few hours? You know I’m good for it.”

 

“Dude, you’re a tease just by looking like that and existing.”

 

Jamie blushes furiously, and Tyler feels a vicious sense of satisfaction. He sighs dramatically as he unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out of the car.

 

“I guess I’ll just go inside and jerk off, sad and alone,” he intones gravely, and starts to slam the door.

 

“Wait!”

 

Tyler stops and turns.

 

“What, uh,” Jamie’s still blushing, and his eyes are a little shifty. “What are you gonna. Y’know. Think about?”

 

And okay, so this is a thing they’ve started doing. Late at night, side by side in the dark or sometimes on the phone, Jamie encourages Tyler to talk, and Tyler does - about stuff he’s thought about and stuff he wants to try, even though all they’ve actually done so far is jerk each other off and rub up against each other.

 

It’s only been a week and a half, and Tyler knows objectively that isn’t very long, but it already feels like a whole lifetime he’s been doing this: counting time by how long until he can get his hands on Jamie again, measuring hours and days in increments that go from the last time Jamie smiled at him to the last time Jamie talked to him to the last time Jamie touched him. So Tyler’s happy to tell Jamie what he likes to hear, even if Jamie doesn’t necessarily reciprocate, and even if they haven’t actually tried most of the relatively tame stuff Tyler has been whispering in Jamie’s ear about. The way Jamie sounds, all embarrassed but turned on, when he’s asking Tyler to tell him more is incentive enough for Tyler.

 

He also knows instinctively what’s next on the list, that the natural progression of their burgeoning sexual exploration would dictate blow jobs are the next step, and it’s not that Tyler’s not _all the way in_ on that idea, not that he’s not dying to get his mouth on Jamie, hopefully later tonight if things go according to plan -.

 

But that’s not what he’s gonna be thinking about in just a few minutes, when he’s alone in his bathroom. And Jamie doesn’t know yet, how far ahead Tyler’s fantasy game is of where they are in real life, has no idea that he’s been working on it for months, creating a whole world for them in his mind, where Jamie just holds him down and _takes_ without hesitation because he knows Tyler is _his_ , and because Tyler knows he can trust Jamie to love him and be careful with him and take care of him like he needs.

 

Tyler knows neither of them are ready for him to tell the truth, here, knows Jamie’s not ready to hear about the embarrassingly elaborate array of filthy, perverted yet soft as hell Jamie-centric fantasies Tyler has on tap, any more than Tyler’s ready to make them that much more real by saying them out loud. So he just licks his lips, and grins.

 

“One guess,” he says, then sticks his tongue into the side of his cheek, just to be a little shit, but also because Jamie deserves it for not coming inside right now and letting Tyler start learning how to suck his dick.

 

“Uh,” Jamie grunts, and he looks sort of dumbfounded. “I’ll study fast,” he says, a little breathless.

 

“You better,” Tyler says, looking at his phone. “I’m giving you four hours to get your ass back over here, so get after it.”

 

Jamie nods, all business, because he’s nothing if not coachable. And also, competitive as hell.

 

Four hours and twelve minutes after Jamie pulls out of the driveway, he’s back in Tyler’s bedroom and his dick’s in Tyler’s mouth.

 

+++

 

Tyler’s mom calls the house phone on Tuesday night; Tyler can tell from his Grandma’s side of the conversation that she’s calling from their hotel in Nashville. The girls went to school on Monday, then his mom took them out of classes for the rest of the week. They’re driving down for Thanksgiving, and for Tyler’s game this weekend – they’ll be here tomorrow night.

 

They’re bringing Marshall, which along with seeing his sisters is the part Tyler’s really looking forward to. The part where he has to deal with his mom, and spend extra time away from Jamie, and try to get his head on straight for their Third round playoff game on Saturday – that part he’s not loving. But he gets to _keep Marshall_ here, like, for good – he was nervous about asking, but his grandparents said it was fine like it was no big deal – and Tyler is fucking pumped.

 

He’s talked to his mom precisely once since the morning he yelled at her in the bathroom and hung up on her, then cried in bed while Jamie hugged him. That whole incident is _slightly_ less embarrassing now that he and Jamie are. Whatever. But he can still feel his face burn when he thinks about it, so he tries not to.

 

That one conversation he’s had with his mom since then was awkward, because Tyler doesn’t want to act like petulant baby or whatever, but he’s not really done being mad at her, or scared for her, or distrustful of her, or a whole bunch of other emotions he can’t really identify and definitely does not want to think about, okay?

 

Candace has been reporting in dutifully every few days, though, to let him know things are fine, to confirm that his dad hasn’t been trying to weasel his way back in, either to the house or to his mom’s life.

 

 _He comes for dinner sometimes_ , Candace said, and Tyler felt his heart in his throat, but she followed it immediately with _don’t freak out, it’s just dinner. He goes home after._

 

Tyler feels guilty for how glad he is he doesn’t have to be there for those dinners.

 

On Wednesday afternoon, he sweet talks Jamie into coming in with him after school because they’re not sure, with Tyler’s family getting into town, when they’ll have their next chance. Tyler feels itchy, anxious, because his Grandparents are bustling around, making last minute preparations for having a house full of guests for a week, and it’s nothing like the calm, placid quiet he’s used to coming home to. Usually when he walks in from school his Grandpa is watching TV and his Grandma is just starting dinner, or maybe out at her Bible study or running errands, and Tyler can claim homework, go in his room and shut the door, and have an hour or so to himself, uninterrupted, to do whatever he wants.

 

Lately, what he wants to do has been Jamie, obviously.

 

Like, even on the nights when they go out with their teammates or go their separate ways to hang out with their families instead of each other, Tyler tries hard not to think of those as lost opportunities, but he’s not very successful. Because their friends, their families will still be there when this is all over, and Tyler’s not at all sure how much time he has left on the clock, as far as this Jamie thing is concerned.

 

And Tyler knows, he _knows_ , that seeing his family, who he hasn’t seen in months, should be more important to him than spending one more night lying next to Jamie in the dark, talking and touching and laughing; knows it should probably worry him more that the truth is he’d rather spend the time with Jamie while he can, and see his family some other time.

 

Because realistically speaking, he’s got the rest of his life to spend time with his mom and his sisters; his old life in Boston is still there, waiting, while Tyler has this crazy, out-of-time, out-of-body experience a world away from everything he’s ever known. When it comes to football, and to Jamie, Tyler just wants to make the most of his time here while it lasts, without anything else getting in the way.

 

But today his Aunt Jess and Uncle Mike and his little cousins will be over for dinner, and his Grandma keeps popping her head in with updates on where his family is on their drive, and about dinner being pushed back from seven to eight because they’re running later than expected, and Tyler just wants to scream.

 

All he wants is to lie down next to Jamie and kiss him, to pull him in close and hold him there, to rub against him and lose himself in how good that feels, but of course they can’t, because there’s no privacy, and no time. So they sit chastely on the bed watching one of the same three game tapes that they’ve already watched for The Woodlands, who they’re playing on Saturday at Baylor’s Floyd Casey Stadium.

 

Tyler’s fingers tap on his thigh and his toes twitch; he fidgets around on the bed until Jamie finally lays his hand over Tyler’s.

 

“How ‘bout,” he says, and he’s blushing as soon as Tyler looks at him. Tyler’s heart rate kicks up.

 

“I think we can. Just – um.” He bites his lip, then jerks his head at the bathroom and lowers his voice. “Go take off your sweats and your underwear, and just come back in your basketball shorts. I have an idea.”

 

Tyler doesn’t stop to ask questions, just launches himself off the bed and goes to do as he’s told, then comes back to stand next to the bed, next to Jamie, shifting foot to foot. Jamie grins at him.

 

“Lie down on your front, like,” he motions for Tyler to move the laptop they’ve been watching down toward the foot of the bed and to lie on his stomach, facing the laptop, with his feet toward the head of the bed. He has no idea where this is going, but he’s on board for whatever Jamie wants to try.

 

“You’ve got to put your feet up, and scoot closer.” Jamie wraps a hand around Tyler’s hip and drags him higher up the bed. Tyler bends his knees so his feet are in the air, and Jamie tugs him so his knees are almost against the headboard next to where Jamie’s sitting.

 

“Better,” he says, and his hand ghosts briefly up the back of Tyler’s thigh, over the swell of his ass, making Tyler shiver.

 

“If you’re fucking messing with me, dude,” Tyler warns, voice shaky, but Jamie just laughs.

 

“No, look.” Jamie lifts his hand up to his mouth and licks it in 4 or 5 long, thick swipes of his tongue.

 

“Now lift up, like you’re doing a plank.”

 

“From my knees?” Tyler bitches, because that’s more like a girl-pushup than a plank, but he does as he’s told, lifting his body up off the bed. He has no idea where any of this is going until Jamie’s hand slides up the leg of his shorts, palm up, and he feels the pressure of it pushing his chubbed-up cock up against his belly.

 

“Now down,” Jamie instructs, and Tyler lowers himself down, Jamie’s wet, upturned palm now lodged under his quickly hardening dick.

 

“Uh,” Tyler breathes dumbly, and humps experimentally down against Jamie’s hand.

 

“If someone walks in,” Jamie whispers, and he gives a little upward pressure with his hand for Tyler to press down against, “they can’t see where my hand is.”

 

He crosses his legs at the ankle, all casual-like, and snags the fingers of his right hand up around the top of the headboard, the picture of laidback and disinterested. From the doorway, it really would just look like his left hand is on the bed in between them. You’d almost need a bird’s eye view to see that it’s actually shoved under Tyler’s body.

 

“Start the tape,” Jamie instructs, and Tyler pulls the laptop toward him, hits play.

 

“Can you see the screen okay?” he asks, voice a little breathy, hips already working in minute little up-down increments, Jamie’s palm already getting slicker from the way Tyler’s cock is leaking.

 

“Like that’s what I’m watching,” Jamie says, sarcastic, and pushes up on Tyler’s cock again. Tyler feels heat flood through him at that, and he whimpers.

 

“Holy shit, dude,” he pants, humping down into the firm pressure Jamie’s providing, into the slick slide of his palm along the underside of Tyler’s cock. “You’re like a perverted genius, who fucking knew?”

 

“You don’t know everything about me,” Jamie teases, soft and low in that voice that gets Tyler so fucking good, every time. Tyler whimpers again, moves his hips more emphatically.

 

“Like what?” he manages to grit out. “Tell me what I don’t know about you.”

 

“You don’t know the things I think about,” Jamie murmurs, and Tyler groans.

 

“Tell me,” he knows he’s begging, grinding his cock into Jamie’s hand. He’s got his face propped up in his own hand, like maybe he’s really watching the game that’s playing on his laptop, and he can’t see Jamie’s face unless he twists around to look back over his right shoulder. In this particular case he thinks that might be a good thing, might give Jamie some cover to actually use his words.

 

Usually, with Tyler right up in his face, Jamie just gets flustered and tongue tied, but this feels different.

 

“You’ve been all twitchy since we got home,” Jamie says, voice rumbling low and deep, “could tell what you were thinking.”

 

“Yeah,” Tyler breathes, trying to be encouraging, “you know’m always thinking about it. ‘s frustrating as hell to have no privacy, not be able to touch you when I want.”

 

“Uh huh,” Jamie’s hand pushes and slides under Tyler’s cock, “so I was thinking about how we could, y’know, where it wouldn’t look suspicious even if your Grandma walked right in on us. Anyone could walk in right now and they’d never know.”

 

Tyler groans, tightness building in his belly and groin.

 

“Never know what?” He begs, because he just wants to hear Jamie say it.

 

“That my hand’s on your cock,” Jamie whispers. “That you can’t get enough of it, that you need it so bad you couldn’t wait.”

 

“Fuck,” Tyler groans, abandoning all pretense at keeping the motions of his hips restricted or discreet. If the door did open right now, he could probably still himself fast enough to save them from detection, but he’s pushing the envelope now, he knows. He can’t help it.

 

“Fuck, fuck,” he drops his head, no longer able to keep up the appearance that he’s actually watching the screen in front of him. “Jamie, fuck, please, please.”

 

“Jesus.” Jamie’s voice sounds almost reverent, and Tyler can feel the heat of his eyes, watching – can imagine what he must look like from Jamie’s point of view, ass clenching and thrusting, humping shamelessly against whatever pressure he can get.

 

“Come on, Ty,” Jamie encourages, “you can do it.” Then Tyler vaguely feels his body shift, and Jamie’s big right hand rubs over his ass cheek, just barely, just long enough to give a firm squeeze then it’s gone, but that’s all it takes.

 

Tyler can still feel the seeping heat of Jamie’s hand on his ass, like a brand as he’s coming, hips stuttering, biting his lip to stay silent.

 

He collapses down flat with a whine and sigh, buries his head in his folded arms and slowly rocks his hips up and down against Jamie’s wet hand, groaning with the aftershocks. He feels wrung out and relaxed, finally.

 

Jamie keeps his hand in Tyler’s shorts, curled around Tyler’s cock while Tyler dozes off. Jamie watches the rest of the game that way, until Tyler’s Grandma comes in to say his family is 10 minutes away. When she closes the door, he gives Tyler’s dick a squeeze before he pulls his hand away.

 

Jamie stays for dinner, and they help put both leaves into the giant dining room table so everyone can fit. Jamie is predictably polite to Tyler’s sisters and appropriately smitten with Marshall, provides an effective buffer between Tyler and his mom, and takes the gob smacked hero-worship of Tyler’s little cousins in stride.

 

He’s basically a perfect, if somewhat shy and awkward, human being, which should probably be annoying but instead it just makes Tyler hot for him, like, 24 hours a day. Which is annoying in its own way, actually.

 

Tyler walks Jamie out to his car when he leaves, gropes his dick over Jamie’s half-assed objections about how someone might see. But it’s dark out, and their street is this long, narrow county road with no traffic and no streetlights, and the Bronco makes a nice barrier between them and any prying eyes that might be looking at them from inside the house, so it’s not that hard to talk Jamie into a hurried hand job before he goes, with Jamie sitting in the drivers seat of the Bronco and Tyler standing next to him, inside the open door.

 

“I’ve always thought it’s fucking ridiculous how high this truck is jacked up,” Tyler grins as he’s working Jamie’s cock with his fist, trying to keep things light, conversational, so if anyone were to look out the kitchen window it would just seem like they’re chatting, saying good night. “But who knew it’d be the perfect height for this?”

 

Jamie snorts, then whimpers, then comes all over Tyler’s hand. Jamie sucks in a few deep breaths, then hands him an old Chick Fil A napkin from the console to clean up.

 

“Thanks – I thought maybe I was gonna have to swallow the evidence,” Tyler smirks, and Jamie groans, just like Tyler knew he would.

 

“You’re such an asshole,” Jamie says.

 

Tyler responds with a cheery _Happy Thanksgiving_ , and leaves the dirty napkin for Jamie to deal with.


	3. 3

Tyler manages to stay busy with his dog and his sisters and his little cousins and helping his Grandma lift the giant Thanksgiving turkey in and out of the oven every hour for something called _basting._ It all works like a charm to keep his mother from cornering him and trying to like, have _a talk_ with him or whatever.

 

He locks himself in the bathroom every couple of hours to text Jamie and send him Snaps of himself making faces about how bored and lonely he is, or mirror selfies with his shirt pulled up and his abs flexed like a douche, or with his shorts sagging really low so between the bottom band of his hoodie and the elastic of his underwear you can see a little patch of scruffy hair low on his belly. Jamie pretends to think it’s lame but Tyler knows he’s hot for it, like, secretly. Or not even that secretly, considering all the replay notifications.

 

Honestly, it’s starting to become clear that Jamie likes basically everything Tyler does, even if it’s lame or dumb or douchey, or too soft and sappy or too needy or, just, whatever really – Jamie seems into it, all of it.

 

Tyler keeps having to remind himself how really it’s only technically been two weeks tomorrow since Jamie pulled Tyler down onto his bed, and probably Jamie will change his mind soon and realize how he doesn’t really want to do any of this. Tyler needs to be prepared for that, he knows he does, but right now it’s just hard because everything is _so good_. Tyler just wants to spend every minute looking at Jamie and talking to Jamie and touching Jamie, and Jamie seems pretty on board for that.

 

It’s terrifying and thrilling all at once.

 

Thanksgiving night the Activities Center is open for “optional” workouts, since they’re not technically allowed by the UIL to have required practice on Thanksgiving Day. Of course everyone is going crazy with pent up energy from too much food and too much family time, too much playoff anxiety and not enough football to work it out of them, so the whole team is there except a few guys whose parents forced them to go out of town.

 

The Benns pick Tyler up and they go lift, run through some drills orchestrated by the Captains while the coaching staff looks on silently from a safe distance because they’re not supposed to be supervising. It helps to burn off some of that itchy, anxious feeling Tyler has had since his mom got into town, but it’s a temporary fix.

 

Because afterward Tyler doesn’t really have any good way to try and talk Jamie into coming home with him, because Jordie’s there and it’s just – not fucking possible – and the frustration Tyler feels at not being able to get his hands on Jamie is just compounded when he has to get out of the Bronco and go back into his house with his mom right there, in his space, waiting to pounce.

 

She doesn’t, though.

 

On Friday they all laze around the house; Tyler alternates between playing with Marshall, hanging out with his sisters, and feigning interest in a bunch of college football games he doesn’t actually care about, as a last-ditch buffer between them. He can feel her watching him, but she’s still letting him avoid her, letting him stew.

 

It’s starting to get to him.

 

In the afternoon Jamie picks him up for practice, and they go to Chipotle afterward with the boys. When Jordie leaves with Daley, Tyler puts his hand on Jamie’s hip as soon as they climb back into the Bronco, alone.

 

“You’ve stayed with me before both playoff games, so far. I think it’s good luck,” he tries, but Jamie just shakes his head.

 

“I’m not gonna come fuck around with you in your bed while your mom is in the next room.”

 

Tyler snorts.

 

“Dude. You literally had your hand on my dick while my Grandma was in the room talking to you, like 3 days ago.”

 

Jamie looks sheepish, but he doesn’t deny the accusation.

 

He drives them past Tyler’s turn, into a new housing development that’s being built behind Tyler’s Grandpa’s land. It already has fancy brick and stone entry gates that say _Star Creek_ , already has a network of neat, wide streets but no lights yet, has skeletons of houses looming on both sides of the cul-de-sac Jamie parks in, but no actual people anywhere around.

 

“So you got plans, huh?” Tyler grins, and Jamie shrugs.

 

“I just thought,” he says with that bashful little grin, and Tyler scrambles to unhook his seatbelt.

 

“You thought right,” he agrees as he’s crawling into Jamie’s lap, straddling his hips.

 

They make out like that, Tyler’s ass intermittently leaning into the horn, startling them apart enough times that Jamie finally growls _oh my god_ and anchors his hands under Tyler’s ass, lifts and throws him over onto his back on the Bronco’s bench seat. Tyler’s stomach swoops, his dick jerks from being man handled like that, and he grabs Jamie’s hoodie, hauls him down on top.

 

“C’mon,” he pants desperately, pulling Jamie’s hips down as hard as he can, their legs struggling to find a way to fit together on the too-short seat, “c’mon, Jamie, c’mon.”

 

“I am, I’m gonna,” is all Jamie says, breathing it against Tyler’s neck while he grinds down, humping frantically.

 

When it’s over, they straighten up fast, sitting up properly in their seats, just in case somebody happens by. Tyler rubs at his dick through his sweatpants, whimpering with the aftershocks, and Jamie watches, open-mouthed and panting with his hand inside his own sweats. Tyler still feels buzzy all over, like it wasn’t enough. He needs like, a week alone with Jamie in a locked room, no clothes and nothing else to do, no one to interrupt them, and maybe, _maybe_ he’d finally be satisfied.

 

He definitely shouldn’t say shit like that out loud, but he does, accidentally. Jamie just blushes, but he pulls his hand out of his pants like it hurts to do it, grits out _for real_ , and swallows thickly like maybe he actually knows what Tyler means. Tyler feels that swoopy dip in his stomach again.

 

“You sure you don’t want to stay at mine?” Tyler tries one more time. “If you don’t and we lose tomorrow, it’s definitely gonna be your fault for fucking up the luck.”

 

Jamie just shakes his head and snorts.

 

“We’re not gonna lose tomorrow.”

 

He cranks up the Bronco, pulls his seatbelt across his chest.

 

“You’re so sure, huh?” Tyler grins.

 

“I mean,” Jamie shrugs, “I’m not tryin’ to be a dick or anything but, like, no way we go out in the third round. Not this team – we’re too good, man. You can take it to the bank.”

 

Then he pulls out of the subdivision and back onto the main road.

 

+++

 

She waits until he’s brushing his teeth. He thought she was already asleep in the other guest room, but she appears in the doorway and traps him, effectively, in the bathroom

 

“I’m sorry, baby – about everything. I miss you, so much, and I just wanted you to know that I -. I never meant to make things so tough on you. I wish I knew how to make it easier.” She looks sad, which just makes Tyler mad. What right does she have to be _sad_ , about any of this? She’s the one who made all the decisions, all the choices that put them all where they are. At least, like, mostly.

 

Sure, maybe with a little time and space, Tyler can see now how he could have been more responsible. He could have paid attention to his homework and done better in school, could have not partied so much and not gotten into so much trouble, he could have helped her out more around the house, could have helped make things _easier_ on her instead of always harder. He knows all that – _he does_ – and he wants to tell her he’s sorry, wants to not be pissed at her anymore, but he just –. He can’t, not yet.

 

So instead he just keeps brushing and brushing and brushing his teeth in the silence.

 

She watches him for a long time, then sighs.

 

“Grandma and Grandpa say you’re doing so great here, they say they love having you. They’re so proud of you – your good grades and your football. We’re all really proud, Ty.”

 

Tyler keeps on brushing. He’s probably wearing the enamel away at this point, but it’s an excuse not to talk, and he’s taking it.

 

“Jamie seems nice,” she tries finally, after another long pause, and something in the tone of her voice makes it feel like innuendo, sends a chill down his spine. He feels his face go red, and he panics. He bends down to spit, just to hide his blush from her. He spends way longer than necessary cupping water in his hand, rinsing and re-rinsing his mouth, before he finally stands up to face her. She’s looking at him expectantly.

 

He rolls his eyes, like some deep-seated force of habit he can’t help when he’s faced with his mother. He doesn’t even know where it comes from – he would _never_ roll his eyes at his grandparents, not in a million years.

 

“So I made one friend,” he sighs, “big freaking deal. That doesn’t make everything all better, mom.”

 

“I never said that,” she says carefully, “but if you’ve only got one, he seems like a good choice.”

 

Of course, Tyler doesn’t only have one. He has lots of friends now, a whole team full of them really, but obviously Jamie is. Well.

 

“He is,” Tyler says, and he feels himself blush again. His mom gives him this soft, knowing mom-smile, like she sees right through him, and his face burns from it.

 

She never asked, after The Incident, so Tyler never said. But he thinks she knows, because she knows _him_. Because she’s his mom, and for all the ways that she can be oblivious and checked-out and self-centered and caught up in her own drama, she still has this sixth sense when it comes to him and his sisters. It’s almost impossible to lie to her, when she’s dialed in and paying attention.

 

He never really thought her sending him away was about _that_ , about the _gay_ part of all the ways he fucked up, but he had no way of knowing for sure.

 

But right now she’s totally focused on Tyler, and he can almost see the question in her mind, see her turning it over, wondering how best to ask it so he doesn’t lash out. He figures even if he can’t make himself apologize to her, he can at least make himself tell her the truth.

 

“I’m gay, mom,” he blurts, then holds his breath.

 

She lets out a tiny gasp, barely audible, and suddenly her eyes are full of tears. But she’s still smiling, even softer now. She nods her head, like she’s just affirming, like she’s not surprised.

 

“My baby boy,” she croaks, her voice thick, “you’ve always been so fucking brave.”

 

He turns and crumples into her before he can even think, before he can tell himself he’s too old for this. She’s so much smaller than him, now, but it still feels like she’s the one holding him, rocking him back and forth in her arms.

 

“I hope to God you already know this, but I’m saying it anyway. I love you so much, Tyler, and I’m so happy I get to be your mom. Nothing could ever change that, not for one second, no way in hell.”

 

They stand there crying and hugging in the bathroom for a while, until the front of his t-shirt is wet with her tears and the shoulder of hers is wet with his. Finally he pulls away, and she turns to look at them both in the mirror, at their bloodshot eyes and red snotty noses.

 

“Look at us, we’re a mess,” she cry-laughs, running her fingers under her eyes to wipe away smeared mascara.

 

He laughs too, but then a wave of terror hits him.

 

“Don’t tell dad!”

 

It bursts out of him from nowhere, suddenly overwhelmed with fear at the very idea. He doesn’t need to imagine the nasty things his deadbeat fucking father would have to say, if he found out his son is a fag.

 

She looks at him seriously in the mirror.

 

“I wouldn’t, baby. That’s your business and nobody else’s. You tell who you want, when you want.”

 

Tyler just sniffles and nods, feels his heart rate start to drop again.

 

“Grandma and Grandpa don’t know?” She asks his reflection, and he shakes his head.

 

“Nobody knows except Brownie, and now you,” he says, then reconsiders with another sniff. “Well, and Jamie, I think.”

 

She gets that soft, knowing smile on her face again, but it doesn’t feel like a threat this time.

 

Instead he just feels – relieved, somehow.

 

“Does he feel the same about you?” She asks, even though he’s never said how he feels. Tyler doesn’t bother with denials; he just shrugs.

 

“I dunno,” he hedges. “Maybe.”

 

“He’s really cute, huh?” She says with a sly smile, and Tyler slaps a hand over his eyes.

 

“Oh my _God_ , mom, just stop,” he groans. “Please.”

 

She cackles, and digs her fingers into his ribs, making him yelp and squirm.

 

“Well he is,” she says “and such a _nice young man_ – so I keep hearing. I think your Grandma might have a little crush on him, herself.”

 

“Blech,” Tyler wrinkles his nose at her with a gagging noise. He rolls his eyes again, but there’s no heat behind the gesture this time, both of them still sniffling through their giggles and wiping their eyes.

 

“Do we need to have the safe sex talk?” She asks, and this time Tyler’s eye roll is a little more annoyed.

 

“ _No_.”

 

“No one had it with me, and look what happened,” She bumps him with her shoulder, grins at him in the mirror. “I got stuck with this pain in the ass kid for the rest of my life.”

 

He snorts.

 

“Yeah well, I’m not gonna get pregnant, so.” He shrugs. “I’m good.”

 

“Do you need me to buy you condoms?” She asks.

 

“ _Mother_. Holy shit, please stop.”

 

“Well, you can’t drive yet,” she holds up her hands, face all innocent like she’s not being the most embarrassing person on the planet. “What are you supposed to do if you need them, ask Grandma to pick some up for you at Walmart? I’ll buy you some before we leave.”

 

“I’m not having sex,” he blurts, “oh my god.”

 

“Not yet, maybe,” she says, “but you should have them, anyway. Just so they’re there, when you need them.” She shoulders him again. “I’m serious, Ty. I don’t expect you to be abstinent, but I expect you to be safe. Promise me.”

 

“Oh my god,” he says again, with an incredulous shake of his head. “Fine, I promise, okay? Can we please never talk about this again?”

 

“Oh, we’re definitely gonna talk about it again,” she grins, “but the torture is over, for today.”

 

He texts Jamie once he’s in bed,

 

_My mom just gave me the sex talk._

 

_Oh shit_ , Jamie writes back, _awkward._

 

_Sooooo fucking awkward_ , he replies.

 

He thinks about telling Jamie about the condoms, but he doesn’t know how Jamie would respond, if he’d think Tyler’s trying to, like, _say_ something. About condoms. And what he might use them for.

 

What _they_ might use them for.

 

So instead he just types out,

 

_See you in the morning_ , and smiles when Jamie’s reply is just a thumbs up followed by a million emoji for banks and money.

 

+++

 

On Saturday morning at 7 a.m., a bunch of parents and students and fans all meet up in the Stonebridge parking lot, to follow the buses out when they leave. The cheerleaders and drill team are painting car windows, handing out Mean Green flags, the kind that wedge into the window of your car.

 

When they pull out of the parking lot Tyler watches out his window as a seemingly never-ending stream of buses and cars turn out after them, flags waving and windows all painted with Stonebridge slogans. The windows of the buses have all the Varsity players’ names and numbers painted on them in green and white.

 

They head down to Waco with the endless caravan of vehicles trailing them, which is a little bit of a mind fuck. Like, it’s awesome, to feel all that support behind them, but it’s also a little scary, the idea that if they lose, all the people in all those cars will be heartbroken and let down. He knows his Grandma and Grandpa, his Aunt Jess and Uncle Mike, his little cousins, not to mention his mom and sisters are all back there in that line somewhere, hoping and praying and _believing_ that Tyler and the Stars can get it done today, and Tyler really, really wants to show them their faith is warranted.

 

“You’re still sure we’re gonna win, right?” Tyler leans over to ask, right into Jamie’s ear.

 

Jamie shivers, then hits him with that little grin.

 

“Take it to the bank,” he says again. “Relax, we got this.”

 

He wraps his hand around the back of Tyler’s neck and squeezes, and Tyler breathes deep, and does his best.

 

Floyd Casey isn’t the biggest stadium he’s ever played in – the Massachusetts State Finals are in Gillette, thank you very much – but it’s still big enough to be a little intimidating. They get walk-through time on the field at eleven, then they mill around up on the concourse and watch The Woodlands walk through, talking shit to each other about how much better they are than those scrubs.

 

The Booster Club brings in footlongs from Subway along with a bunch of chips and snacks and Gatorade, and they all eat in the Baylor locker room, hang out just fucking around, playing cards or messing around on their phones or napping, trying to stay loose until coach comes in at 2 and says it’s time to start moving.

 

They all focus up, get into their game day routines, start running through whatever stretches and warm-ups they each do individually, start suiting up little by little.

 

At 2:50 they move them down the concourse under the stadium to the tunnel they’re running out of. Jamie goes down the line of all the backs and receivers, same as every week, smacking them on their helmets, shaking them by their facemasks, and when he gets to Tyler he says _let’s take it to the bank, 9-1_ and Tyler screams _let’s do this_ right back in his face.

 

They run through the smoky darkness of the Star tunnel at 3:00 sharp, sprinting out into the sunlight. It’s cold enough Tyler can see the cloud of their combined breath rising up around them. He’s glad he put his sleeves on.

 

Daley calls heads at 3:25, and the flip goes in their favor. From there, pretty much everything else does, too.

 

They crush The Woodlands 56-21, and Tyler scores twice in the process.

 

Afterward his family crowds around him out by the buses, hugging him and congratulating him and saying how proud they are of him. When he finally climbs on the bus, it feels like he’s walking on a cloud.

 

It’s a two hour drive back to Stonebridge from Baylor, two hours in the darkened bus with their loud, rowdy teammates celebrating all around them. Jamie looks happy, but exhausted, and Tyler feels exactly the same. When Jamie slumps against the wall of the bus, Tyler slumps against him, and they both know nobody’s going to say a word, nobody’s going to think anything of it, under the circumstances.

 

Jamie’s hand snakes in between them and up under Tyler’s hoodie, up under and his t-shirt until it finds the bare skin along his ribs. Jamie falls asleep in minutes, but his hand stays there the whole ride home.

 

+++

 

“When you said _a little_ ,” Jamie says, with Tyler’s earlobe in his mouth, “what’s that mean?”

 

Tyler shivers and tries to think.

 

“A little what?” he mumbles, nuzzling his cheek against Jamie’s.

 

“I said I hadn’t done stuff. Y’know – with guys. But you said you had. _A little_.”

 

Jamie’s hands are hot on Tyler’s bare back, they’re pressed chest to chest with nothing in between them, for once. Tyler feels drunk on Jamie’s skin, his mouth, his big arms pulling Tyler in close and tight, his hard cock, still trapped inside his sweats but pressing insistently up under Tyler’s balls.

 

The instant Tyler’s grandparents pulled out of the driveway to meet their friends for dinner, Tyler lost his shirt and sweats and climbed into Jamie’s lap in his underwear. They’ve got at least an hour, and they’re not wasting a second of it.

 

“Uh,” Tyler breathes against Jamie’s neck “just, y’know. Making out and stuff.” He groans when Jamie squeezes his ass.

 

“Just making out?”

 

“A few hand jobs, I guess,” Tyler grinds down on Jamie’s cock, thinks about those condoms his mother handed him last Sunday before she left, discreetly double bagged so you couldn’t see through the thin Walgreens sack. When he looked inside later, there was lube in there, too, because of course there was.

 

Now the whole sack is hidden in the front pocket of one of the four hundred hoodies hanging in his closet, where he sincerely hopes his grandma will never, ever find it.

 

But Tyler knows it’s there.

 

“A few hand jobs from one guy,” Jamie asks against his lips, “or one hand job from a few different guys?”

 

Tyler backs up, puts space between their mouths.

 

“You calling me a slut?”

 

“What?” Jamie looks horrified. “No! God, _no_.”

 

Tyler just raises his eyebrows, amused but also curious.

 

“What’s with the questions?”

 

“I just,” Jamie shrugs and, of course, blushes. “I just wanted to know, like. What all you’ve done, and stuff. Not like, to judge you or anything. Just – to know, I guess?”

 

Tyler narrows his eyes.

 

“You wanna hear everything I’ve done?”

 

Jamie’s still blushing, but his eyes look glassy as he nods. Tyler feels the heat flare back to life in his belly. He smirks.

 

“Not this past summer,” he whispers, pressing himself flush against Jamie again, “but the last one, before Freshman year. I got my first hand job.”

 

“Mmhmm,” Jamie mumbles encouragingly, groping his ass. “Who from?”

 

“Friend’s cousin, from out of town,” Tyler goes on, kissing Jamie in between sentences. “We got high together then he jerked me off. It was awesome.”

 

Jamie just nods and pants, _what else?_

“Then I told Brownie about it,” he goes on. Jamie is well aware of Brownie, at this point. “And he asked how it felt. So I showed him.”

 

“Wait,” Jamie pulls back, wide-eyed. “You said he was your friend. You didn’t say you were - .” He stops there and Tyler shakes his head, kisses him again to shut him up.

 

“We were never – he’s not.”

 

Tyler’s still never used the word gay to Jamie, not to describe himself and certainly not to describe Jamie. It seems obvious, or it should be at least, right? But then sometimes he thinks maybe it’s not. Maybe Jamie thinks this is just buddies or whatever, maybe he’s gonna get another girlfriend soon but thinks this thing with Tyler is cool for now. Maybe he thinks that’s what Tyler’s doing, too.

 

Tyler doesn’t think that’s what it is. That’s not how it _feels_ , not to him. But he’s just not sure.

 

“He’s totally not into - that,” is how he finishes the sentence. “I just jerked him off that one time, like, to demonstrate or whatever.”

 

He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. Which really, it wasn’t, but Jamie doesn’t look like he’s convinced.

 

“Promise,” Tyler whispers, and kisses him again.

 

He tells Jamie about Marchy, about making out with him when they were drunk, but how they never did anything more than kiss and grope each other a little, and they never talked about it after. Then he talks about the boy in his lab, how they locked themselves into the bathroom stall and they didn’t kiss or grope at all, just got their dicks out and jerked each other off as fast as they could, and how the other boy had his head back against the tile wall, his eyes closed the whole time, while Tyler watched their hands moving on their cocks.

 

Jamie’s panting, grinding up against Tyler’s ass in earnest, his hands gripping Tyler’s hips hard enough to bruise. Tyler can tell he’s getting close.

 

“And one time,” Tyler whispers, for his grand finale, “I was at this party, and this kid pushed me in the closet, and he went down on his knees.”

 

Jamie groans and shoves Tyler over onto his back, then shoves his own sweats down. He meets Tyler’s eyes, fingers hooked into the waistband of his underwear as he pauses there.

 

They’ve been naked together in the locker room with a bunch of other naked dudes a million times, and they’ve been naked alone together under the covers in the dark in the dead of night, but this is new. They’re alone in the house, and it’s still just early evening. All the lights are on, and they’re on top of the blankets; there’s nothing and no one to hide behind.

 

Tyler holds Jamie’s gaze and pushes his boxer briefs down off his hips, raises his eyebrow like a dare. Jamie just smiles that tiny smile and shakes his head, but he shoves his underwear down and puts a knee on the bed between Tyler’s legs, drags his eyes up Tyler’s body – not slow, exactly, not blatant, but not _fast_ , either – and by the time he looks at Tyler’s face, he’s blushing again.

 

“C’mon,” Tyler groans, watching Jamie’s big dick bobbing out from his body, struggling to stand up under its own weight, “get down here.”

 

Jamie covers Tyler’s body with his own, and Tyler could die it’s so good, just the weight and heat of him, how he smells and how he feels. It’s almost scary, how much Tyler _wants_ him. It feels more important than anything, more than air to breathe or water to drink. He just wants Jamie, Jamie, Jamie.

 

They slide and grind together, and Tyler thinks again about the secret lube in his closet, thinks next time, that would make this even better. _Next time_.

 

“After he went down on his knees, what happened?” Jamie asks, his voice low and strained.

 

“He undid my jeans,” Tyler says, and Jamie groans, fingers digging into Tyler’s hips again.

 

“He took out my dick,” he goes on, and Jamie whimpers into his neck, rumbles _mmhmmm_ against his skin.

 

“He rubbed his face against it,” he manages to grunt out, and he hears Jamie’s low gasp, the punched- out _ah ah_ that means he’s about to come. Tyler just clings for dear life, stuck between the memory of that moment in that closet in Cape Cod - his shock at how good it felt, that boys’s smooth cheek and nose against his hard cock, and at how blatant and dirty it seemed - and the moment he’s in with Jamie, their cocks wet and slippery between them now, sliding slick against each other.

 

It feels so good Tyler can’t even think, much less talk.

 

When Jamie comes it gets even slicker, more slippery, and Tyler’s done just a few seconds later, dragged over the edge by the overwhelming sensations of Jamie all around him.

 

When Tyler’s brain comes back online, he checks his phone to make sure how long his grandparents have been gone, and sees its only been 45 minutes. He drags Jamie to the shower, and they kiss and grope each other under the hot water until they both get off again, then they stay there until Tyler’s alarm goes off to tell him it’s been an hour since his grandparents left, and they should wrap this shit up.

 

Eventually they’re dried and dressed, back on Tyler’s bed with the video cued up of this week’s opponent – Spring Westfield, their first team from outside the Metroplex – from their playoff win last weekend over Dallas Skyline. Tyler’s got a Gatorade and some of his grandma’s protein-enhanced cranberry oat squares, he’s got Marshall snuggled up against him on one side and Jamie a respectable distance away, but still close enough to touch, on his other side. He just spent an hour naked and alone with Jamie, came twice, and marked something new – _take a sexy shower_ – off his fantasy sex bucket list.

 

It hits him suddenly - he can’t really remember a time he was this happy, or felt this good, this content. He feels a stab of something in his gut at the thought, like he’s being disloyal somehow. He’s a Boston boy, after all, born and raised. Texas was supposed to be a temporary punishment, something he had to endure for a year to prove he’d cleaned up his act and could be trusted to resume his real life back in Massachusetts.

 

But somehow, it’s turned into something else entirely.

 

Somehow, Dallas has started to feel like _home_.

 

“So the kid,” Jamie says, and leans over to throw his shoulder into Tyler, “the one in the closet? That was your first blow job?”

 

And the last time they talked about it, Tyler didn’t feel like he could say it out loud, didn’t feel ready to tell Jamie the truth. He knows the reality is it’s only been a few weeks, but everything feels different now. Now, he just shrugs, says,

 

“Not exactly.”

 

He tells Jamie how the door opened, and someone took that picture, shared it around. Jamie’s face goes pale as he talks.

 

“Catholic school, y’know,” Tyler shrugs again, _what are you gonna do_? “No sex stuff allowed, because it’s a sin and everything, so. I had to go.”

 

“I’m really sorry, Ty,” Jamie says finally, after the silence stretches out for a while. “I didn’t think it was –. I mean, you said you were partying a lot and your grades weren’t that great, and I just thought.” He pauses, then clears his throat.

 

“I didn’t know it was because of, y’know. _Sex stuff_.”

 

“Yeah,” Tyler says. “Well.” He doesn’t mention the part about the other kid getting to stay. Doesn’t mention that if it had been a girl on her knees in front of him, he’d probably still be in Boston. What good would it do, anyway? That’s just how the world works.

 

Jamie leans over, shoulders into him again with that little smile, all bashful.

 

“So you’re telling me you’ve still never had a blow job?”

 

Tyler snorts, shakes his head. Because in fact he has not ever had a blow job. He’s blown Jamie a grand total of twice now, but so far, Jamie hasn’t returned the favor. Tyler’s been wondering if it’s one of those things – like, making out and groping and rubbing together is fine, and Tyler sucking his dick is fine, but putting his mouth on Tyler’s dick is maybe too gay for Jamie, or whatever.

 

“Well, I mean,” Jamie says, low, “maybe I could help you with that, sometime. Just, if you want.” His face is so red it’s almost purple, and Tyler just wishes his grandparents would never come home so he could get Jamie naked again and keep him that way.

 

“If I want?” Tyler raises an eyebrow. “Because so many guys are turning down blow jobs, I guess?”

 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Jamie cautions, and Tyler rolls his eyes.

 

“Neither do I,” he points out. “It’s a pretty simple concept. Open mouth, insert dick.”

 

Jamie actually groans, actually covers his face with his hands. His embarrassment is ridiculously adorable.

 

“I really want to,” he whispers into his hands. “I’m just, like -.”

 

Tyler feels his heart thud against his ribs, his mouth go dry.

 

“Hey,” he wraps his fingers around Jamie’s forearm, tugs his hand down. “it’s cool either way, okay? I don’t want you to, like -. I mean, whatever we do, I want it to be good for both of us. I’m not gonna like it much unless you’re having fun, too. Yeah?”

 

Jamie just nods, his face burning.

 

“Yeah,” he nods, “thanks, I -. Just. Yeah.”

 

He swallows awkwardly.

 

Tyler reaches out, shoves at his shoulder then rolls his eyes.

 

“Start the tape, already. Let’s get this show on the road, Benn.”

 

“Right,” Jamie says, and hits play.

 

+++

 

Friday afternoon, as soon as 4th Period is over, they all head over to the Activities Center to pack up their shit. They’re playing in Austin this week, and it’s too far to drive the day-of, so they head down Friday night. Tyler is excited to go to Austin, he’s never been and it’s supposed to be a super chill city or whatever, but Jamie shows him on his phone where they’re staying, and where the stadium is, and then where all the fun stuff is in Austin, and it’s like – nowhere close. He tries not to feel too disappointed; he’s not here on fucking vacation, he’s here to work, and he needs to be ready to take care of business tomorrow.

 

They stay in one of those mini-suite hotels with the little kitchens and a sofa besides just the beds, but they’re still staying 4 guys to a room, and with all their gear and all the food and drinks and snacks their parents and the cheerleaders and the Booster Club have loaded them up with, the rooms are still busting at the seams.

 

Rooms are assigned by the coaching staff, and they intentionally split up groups of guys they know are tight and redistributed things, in an obvious effort to keep the hijinks to a minimum and try to make sure they all actually get some modicum of fucking sleep.

 

Tyler rooms with Eakin and two Sophomore Defensive guys up from the J.V. for the Play-off run, Oleksiak and Nemeth. Tyler barely knows either of them, which is kind of weird, considering they’re actually in his grade. In two years these are the guys that will be Seniors with him, team leaders with him, maybe even Captains with him.

 

If Tyler stays in Texas, that is.

 

It’s a lot to think about.

 

They’re both huge, especially Oleksiak, so for purposes of practicality, Eakin and Tyler don’t even share a bed. Tyler’s taller, but Eakin has some size on him, so they flip for who has to share with Oleksiak, and Eakin loses. They all joke at lights out about how Eakin is the little spoon in their bed and Tyler is the little spoon in his bed with Nemeth, and everybody makes the requisite no-homo jokes about sleeping back to back and all that shit.

 

Tyler plays along, laughs when he’s supposed to, and carefully makes sure he stays on his right side all night, back firmly turned to Nemeth at all times.

 

The whole time, he’s wishing he could have just roomed with Jamie. At least then he could have slept however the fuck he felt like, and not had to worry about it.

 

Reeves is actually a smaller Stadium than Stars Stadium back at home, and the Stonebridge fans fill up about three quarters of the seats. Tyler doesn’t even feel nervous this week, really. It’s starting to feel inevitable, this team and this run they’re on. The way Jamie just slices up opposing defenses with that stone-faced mask that has no tells, gives nothing away, it just - it seems impossible, almost, that he could ever lose. That _they_ could lose, as long as they have him on their side.

 

Every week it seems more and more obvious that Jamie is a man playing a boys’ game, that he’s on a different level than the rest of them, and certainly on a different level from the other quarterbacks they’re playing against week after week. These are the best that the vaunted Texas High School Football machine has churned out this year, and next to Jamie they all look.

 

Well. _Mediocre._

 

Tyler is willing to concede that maybe he’s biased in some respects where Jamie is concerned, but the scoreboard doesn’t lie.

 

They crush Westfield, as expected, to become the Region 2 Champs. They’re down to the final 4 teams in the state; all they need is two more wins.

 

+++

 

“What about girls?” Jamie asks against Tyler’s lips, his back against the wall of the walk-in closet in Tyler’s bedroom.

 

It’s the safest place to make out when Tyler’s grandparents are home, and even though they always knock before they open his bedroom door, he still feels better with a little more time to maneuver, in case he and Jamie need to disentangle themselves and look innocent on short notice. The closet gives them a few more seconds of visual cover.

 

“What about them?” Tyler murmurs, face turned up because Jamie’s just enough taller than him that he has to, to kiss him. Even when Jamie’s propped back against the wall like he is now, when Tyler leans in against him it makes him shorter, too, and the height difference remains constant. As far as Tyler’s concerned, there’s something that’s just _perfect_ about the way his body fits against Jamie’s, about the way Jamie’s arms go around him and rest just right on the top curve of his ass, about the way he has to tip his head back and reach up a little, to meet Jamie’s mouth.

 

“You told me about guys,” Jamie reminds him, “but what about girls? I wanna hear about the stuff you’ve done with girls, too.” He’s still kissing Tyler in between words and sentences, his thick thigh wedged in between Tyler’s legs, in just the right spot for Tyler to grind against, but Tyler is dragged out of his Jamie-induced stupor by the words coming out of his mouth.

 

He leans back, puts some space between them.

 

“What, uh?” He starts stupidly. He’s suddenly faced with the prospect of having to admit, or at least explain, why there haven’t _been_ any girls, and he doesn’t know if that will make Jamie feel weird. Like, if this is all supposed to be just bros or whatever, and Jamie thinks he’s doing it with another guy who’d really prefer a girl but will make do with guys in a dry spell or something? And now Tyler’s got to tell him that actually, Tyler doesn’t fuck with girls _ever_ , doesn’t even _want_ to?

 

Yeah, shit. That could definitely get weird.

 

He doesn’t want to fuck this up, doesn’t want to lose it.

 

He’s not sure he could _stand_ losing it, honestly. Not sure he’d survive it.

 

But what choice does he have? Make up some girlfriend in Boston? He could, but.

 

But he’s never done it before, and he doesn’t really want to start now. Not with anyone, but definitely not with Jamie.

 

Jamie’s watching him in that quiet, patient way he has, while Tyler flounders around mentally for any life line he could possibly cling to, but there aren’t any he can see. There’s just no other way out, he’s just – he’s got to come clean.

 

He blows out a long breath, and decides to go for light, unbothered. It’s his old go-to.

 

“Uh, there’s really. I mean, there’s not,” he says, and scratches the back of his neck nervously. “I haven’t,” he finally spits out, feeling his face burn, “with girls, I mean.” He sneaks a look at Jamie’s face, at the surprise there, and he looks away fast.

 

“I guess I’m, like. Going for that Gold Star status, or whatever.”

 

Jamie just looks confused.

 

“Gold Star Status?”

 

Tyler holds in a sigh, and takes a step back, takes his hands off Jamie, just in case. He hopes, he _really_ hopes, it’s not for the last time.

 

“Yeah,” he shrugs, tries to seem totally fine with it or whatever. “Y’know, like when a gay person has never hooked up with the opposite sex? That’s Gold Star gay. Get with this century, dude.”

 

He tries a grin, tries for as lighthearted and unworried as he can muster, but Jamie just stares at him, eyebrows climbing higher on his forehead.

 

“Look,” Tyler says softly, and he holds his hands up, all _no hard feelings_ and _totally my bad_ , “sorry if that’s – weird, or like. I mean, if you didn’t know I was - . And this is, like, not what you - .”

 

He feels lightheaded, like he’s going to puke, or cry. Maybe both.

 

“Just, sorry,” he says again, helpless.

 

But then Jamie’s eyebrows fold into a scowl, and he’s shaking his head, saying _hey, no_ and reaching out, almost like he’s going to touch Tyler again, but then he stops before he does.

 

“It’s not, like, bad or anything,” Jamie says, and Tyler breathes again, but he still feels dizzy. “I just. I mean, I guess I’m – surprised?” Jamie shrugs.

 

“I mean, at school? Like, girls I know ask me about you _all_ the time. And all those girls at homecoming? I just thought - . I mean, it seems like girls are really, y’know.” He pauses, then finishes cautiously, “ _Into_ you.”

 

Tyler shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, and shrugs, self-conscious. He stares at the wall over Jamie’s head.

 

“Yeah, well, I’m not into them, so. I don’t know what to tell you.”

 

It’s quiet for a beat, then Jamie says,

 

“You don’t have to tell _me_ anything, I mean – I’m not the one you’re not into.”

 

It takes a second for Tyler to process, but then - his eyes snap down to Jamie’s face, and he’s wearing that little fucking smile, almost a smirk this time.

 

Tyler feels his stomach swoop, in a good way this time, feels his heart thud with hope instead of fear. He narrows his eyes at Jamie.

 

“Asshole,” he says, and Jamie’s grin gets bigger. He keeps his eyes on Tyler while he reaches out, snags two fingers into the neck of his hoodie and tugs.

 

Tyler goes, feeling bashful for some reason. He ducks his head, hides his face against Jamie’s hoodie. He feels Jamie’s arms go around him, and they stand there, just stand there like that for a while, Tyler’s face pressed to Jamie’s chest, Jamie’s chin on the top of his head and his hands resting light and easy in the small of Tyler’s back.

 

“Tyler?” He hears his Grandma’s voice from the hall at the same time as her knock, and he springs back away from Jamie. As he hears the door to his room open, Jamie’s already reaching up for the top shelf of the closet.

 

“Yeah?” Tyler calls, “In here!”

 

When she peers around and into the closet, she sees them both on tip toes, trying to tug at the big suitcase on the top shelf, the one Tyler brought down from Boston with everything he owned inside. After all, there are only so many reasons for them to both be in the closet at the same time.

 

She doesn’t even ask why – but they’ve got a cover story for that, too, just in case she does. Instead she just says,

 

“Oh! Do you need a step stool?”

 

“Uh, maybe?” Jamie says, like he’s actually considering it.

 

“I’ll run get it,” she says, and then from around the corner, she calls back, “and dinner’s ready!”

 

+++

 

In the State Semi-Final game on Saturday, they’re slated to play DeSoto - another Dallas area team. Tyler thinks it’s confusing that the playoff bracket put DeSoto into Region 1 when Stonebridge is in Region 2, and the schools are only 45 miles apart. In a state as big as Texas, 45 miles is like, nothing.

 

Jamie explained that they split up the DFW and the Houston Metro areas into different Regions, to try to give the best teams a better chance to make it all the way to the Final Four. As it is, the schools that make it into the Championship game in the big school brackets, the 4A and 5A tiers, are mostly all from DFW and Houston – but at least with the Regions split, more than one team from each area has a chance to get through to a State Semi-Final.

 

Tyler looks up the past winners on the UIL website, and he sees immediately how true it is. Easily 75% of the teams participating in the 4 and 5A Championship games in the past 20 years come from either DFW or Houston metro, sometimes two from one city pitted against each other. Besides the very occasional San Antonio area team, or the phenomenon of the Lake Travis powerhouse program out of Austin, Dallas and Houston and their suburbs are pretty much where all the action is.

 

It’s also seriously crazy how many NFL QB’s have come out of Texas, once he starts paying attention. Of course everybody knows about Colt McCoy, Vince Young, those guys that played for Texas in college, but you forget about how many others there are that came out of High School here: Ryan Tannehill, Nick Foles, Andy Dalton, Matt Stafford. He’s pretty sure he never even knew before that Andrew Luck came out of Texas, too.

 

When an outlier team does appear in the list of State Champions and Runners-Up, it’s almost always because they had a great QB at the helm: Drew Brees at Austin Westlake in ’96, Case Keenum at Abilene Wylie in ’04, RG3 at Copperas Cove in ’06 and ’07.

 

Tyler’s done a little research, and just this season, QB’s from Texas are starting for ten different Power 5 College programs. All of it just makes Tyler feel that much more certain that Jamie is the next one, destined for greatness.

 

And the Stars all get to come along for the ride.

 

“You’re getting super into the whole UIL playoff history thing, huh?” Jamie says, leaning in to read Tyler’s screen over his shoulder. Tyler’s supposed to be taking notes on the game film that’s playing on his laptop, but instead he’s looking at the 2007 State Playoffs bracket on his phone.

 

“I dunno,” Tyler shrugs. “It’s pretty interesting, I guess. Did you know Derek Carr played three years of his high school career in Texas? He lost in the Region 3 Final as a Junior, before his family moved back to California for his Senior year.”

 

Jamie gives him a _look._

 

“Sugarland Clements,” he recites, like Tyler should have known better than to ask such a dumb question, “lost to Katy. Who went on to win State that year, by the way. For Division _II_.”

 

He says that last part with no small degree of derision – Division II is the bottom division of the 5A bracket, where the smaller half of the biggest schools in Texas play.

 

Stonebridge plays in the biggest of the big, where all the monsters live: 5A Division I.

 

Obviously.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tyler grins. “I was just testing you, Encyclopedia Benn.”

 

Jamie leans into him, rolls his eyes.

 

“Who do you think you’re dealing with, fool?”

 

They go back to watching their third DeSoto game tape of the night. Jamie keeps his head on Tyler’s shoulder.

 

+++

 

They’re down at the half for the first time all season, and still, somehow, Tyler isn’t worried. Ruff has a full on melt-down in the locker room, screaming and spitting and telling them with one breath that they don’t deserve to win, and with the next that they’ve worked too hard this season to let this slip away, that they’ve earned this.

 

Tyler’s feeling is, they’ve played like shit, _he’s_ played like shit, but they’re only down five. They’ve still got momentum and destiny and the Stonebridge Stars mystique on their side.

 

Also, they’ve got Jamie.

 

They’re going to get things going in the 3rd quarter and leave these guys in the dust, Tyler is sure of it.

 

But then, nothing happens. At least nothing good.

 

Tyler and Eakin combine to drop three passes in a row and they have to punt on their first possession after the half. There’s a fumble that’s recovered by DeSoto on their next. Jamie throws a pick, his first of the playoffs, on the next.

 

They manage one stupid, shitty little field goal, the only points they get out of four offensive possessions in the quarter, then Big Benn gets called for Roughing the Passer, automatic 15-yard penalty, and DeSoto scores again to go up 9.

 

Now it’s a two-possession game, and Tyler starts to sweat despite the freezing cold December night air.

 

They open the fourth with another Three and Out series, and almost as soon as they make it off the field DeSoto scores again. Tyler’s still gulping Gatorade when he hears the roar from the DeSoto side of the stadium and looks up to see it, Scoreboard flashing 35 to 20.

 

The Gatorade sours on his tongue.

 

Jamie is in his usual spot on the sideline, helmet under his arm, watching them line up to go for two.

 

His skin is ghost-white, his face like a stone.

 

Tyler can feel it all slipping away, the whole season and everything they’ve accomplished and the dream of a Championship, rushing away from them like a wave receding from the shore. His heart feels close to breaking, and not just for him, but for Jamie, and he just. He has to do _something._

 

He throws hands his squeeze bottle back to the student trainer who hands them out, and just starts yelling. He’s patrolling the sideline, getting in peoples’ faces. He knocks some helmets together and slaps some asses, doing his own version of Coach Ruff’s halftime meltdown, putting everything he has into it.

 

Some of the boys aren’t buying it, keep on hanging their heads; But some of them seem to understand what he’s doing, seem to feel the same way – like, we’ve _gotta do_ _something_. They start to look alive, start to respond, whooping back at him, yelling about fighting all the way ‘til the end. They scream their heads off at their poor, exhausted defense, and miracle of miracle, the boys actually hold and DeSoto can’t convert. It’s still just a two-possession game, and that’s something, at least.

 

Right now, it’s all they’ve got.

 

Tyler watches Jordie jog off the field and straight up to Jamie, who still has that blank, empty look on his face. Jordie takes off his helmet and wraps his arm around so he’s got his elbow around the back of Jamie’s neck, almost a headlock, and puts his mouth right up against Jamie’s ear. Tyler can’t hear what he’s saying, but Jamie’s jaw sets and he nods his head, quick and sharp. Jordie bangs on his helmet a few times, and he nods again, just keeps nodding as Jordie keeps whispering to him. He’s looking over Jordie’s shoulder, out at the field.

 

Whatever Jordie’s saying, it looks like Jamie’s buying – that horrible, gut-punched look gone now, replaced by one Tyler recognizes, one he’s seen on Jamie’s face a hundred times before, stubborn and steely-eyed, intense and laser-fucking-focused. It’s Jamie’s _you can’t stop me_ face, and Tyler feels hope bubbling up in his belly, just seeing it.

 

He jogs over, and Jordie cuts his eyes to Tyler.

 

“Chubbs is about to show these boys what’s up,” Jordie says, with the supreme confidence of a true believer, “but he can’t do it all by himself, 9-1.” He slaps Tyler on the shoulder pads. “Give him something out there, yeah?”

 

“Hell yeah,” Tyler says, then he meets Jamie’s eyes and feels a jolt of electricity run through him.

 

“We got eight minutes, fourteen,” Tyler’s voice is a challenge, all false-bravado and fakin’ it till he makes it. “How many you think I can run in, in eight minutes?” Actually, they have 8:35.

 

“As many as I need you to,” Jamie grits out, and Jordie grins at Tyler.

 

“There he is,” he says, and slaps Jamie on the back. “Fuckin’ A.”

 

Then he turns around and screams _Let’s do this, boys_ , and everybody’s hooting and hollering and jumping up and down all of a sudden.

 

Right off the bat, Jamie calls a Post for Tyler and he just _knows_ it’s coming to him. He runs like his feet are on fire, Jamie zips it right into his hands and he takes it straight to the house, sixty-eight yards on the first play from scrimmage. The whole team takes a collective exhale before they go right back to holding their breath.

 

Ruff decides to kick the PAT, and now they’re down 8. Tyler stands shoulder to shoulder with Jamie on the sideline while they watch their defense force DeSoto to go Three and Out.

 

They all take one more breath.

 

“Let’s get one more,” Jamie says, and pulls his helmet back on.

 

“You know it,” Tyler agrees, and smacks him on the ass.

 

They run the return back to their 30, then get a 16 yard rush on First Down. Second play of the series, Jamie finds Eakin on a Slant and he breaks a tackle, runs it all the way in. They mob him in the End Zone, and Tyler knows now that he was right all along – this team can’t lose.

 

Everybody in the Stadium knows they’re going for 2, because what choice do they have, down 33-35 with under four to play?

 

Two-point conversions are tricky at the best of times, with so little room to maneuver, but even trickier when everyone and their mother knows what you’re doing, and is sitting right on top of you, just waiting for you to do it.

 

Tyler hesitates on his route, just for a millisecond – puts his defender on his heels and makes a hard cut. When he looks back Jamie’s scrambling, out of the pocket, under pressure and on the wrong side of the field, but he’s looking at Tyler. Just as Tyler thinks _no way can he make that throw_ , he makes the fucking throw.

 

It’s across his body, off one foot and with a DeSoto defender already pulling on his right arm. It’s insane, it’s impossible. It’s perfect.

 

It avoids the outstretched hand of Tyler’s defender by millimeters, hits Tyler right in the numbers, in the back corner of the End Zone.

 

The ensuing pandemonium is short lived, still too much time on the clock to get cocky, and the offensive guys all stand shoulder to shoulder on the sideline, arms linked, to watch their defense try to hold off DeSoto’s last stand.

 

It’s clear DeSoto is shook, they’re all over the place, confused, picking up Delay of Game, then Illegal Motion penalties on consecutive Downs, until they’re facing Third and Twenty. Just when it feels like they’re on the ropes, though, they complete a pass for the First Down.

 

They run it three, four, five times in a row, eking out progress, getting closer and closer to Field Goal range and eating up clock. Tyler’s arm is locked through Jamie’s on one side, and Dillon’s on the other; all the guys on the sidelines are screaming their heads off.

 

Then their quarterback drops back to pass, and Tyler can see the play unfolding, can see their receivers open down field, can feel the pressure of the blitz Stonebridge is bringing. Their QB tries to scramble, but – big number 24 rounds the corner at the end of the Line, and boom! It’s a sack, and a loss of 12. Jordie does a little dance near, but not _too_ near – the last thing they need right now is an Unsportsmanlike Conduct penalty – the prone body of their QB on the ground, while the stands go crazy.

 

The QB is slow to get up, and the offense is in chaos again. They get hit with a False Start call to push them back to Third and Seventeen.

 

This time, they can’t pull out of it. They try another passing play, but it’s incomplete, then they go for it on Fourth Down, but Stonebridge brings the blitz again and the QB has to just let it fly and hope for the best. It flies over the head of the nearest receiver, and now the stands are really going bananas, guys on the sideline screaming and jumping and whooping.

 

There’s 1:15 on the clock, and Jamie was fucking _born_ for this.

 

He marches them down field with perfect precision, impeccable clock management, absolute confidence. He barks orders at the line, directing traffic like the fucking Boss he is, and in the end, they don’t even have to settle for a Field Goal. He puts Tyler in the End Zone again with nineteen seconds on the clock. They run it down to the wire then they kick the PAT, and that’s all she wrote.

 

For the first time, Tyler gets interviewed on camera after the game, along with both Benns.

 

“I just tried to run my routes clean and create some space, give my quarterback a good target, something to hit,” Tyler says, when they ask him what he did differently to get open in the Fourth. He’s babbling on autopilot, big dumb grin stretched across his face, too hopped up on adrenaline to know what he’s saying, too happy to care.

 

“We always believe we can win, if we play the right way. They’re a great team and we knew they weren’t going to hand us anything, we were gonna have to fight for it, and we did that,” Jamie says, when they ask him how the team handled being down for the first time all season. He’s stoic as always, like none of this affects him at all. He might as well already be in the NFL.

 

“I told him no one can touch him, no one can beat him,” Jordie says, when they ask him what he said to his brother after DeSoto scored their touchdown in the Fourth. He yells it, really, amped up and red-faced, sweaty and so fucking proud. “I told him to put us on his back and take us home, and that’s exactly what he did.”

 

+++

 

Tyler’s mom calls in the morning, too-early as usual. He talks to her in a low voice that doesn’t quite match his mood. Inside he’s still bubbling over with the excitement of last night, feeling all fizzy and lighter than air. He’s closed into the bathroom so he doesn’t wake Jamie, and he tries to keep a lid on his enthusiasm, but obviously his mom can hear it, volume notwithstanding.

 

“You sound so happy, baby. It’s so good to hear; I’ve missed that.”

 

“Well, we still have one more game,” he reminds her, and himself.

 

“I think it’s about more than just football,” she says, like she’s gearing up for something. He’s afraid it’s going to be something about Jamie, and he braces himself, but.

 

It’s not that at all.

 

“I didn’t want to say anything until I talked to your dad,” she says, and Tyler’s gut seizes up, the big bright bubble of joy floating inside him threatening to pop as she hurries on. “Grandma and Grandpa were saying, over Thanksgiving. Well. They thought maybe it would be a good idea, like a fresh start? If we all moved down there, too. Since you’re doing so well, and. It’s just, the public schools are better, the weather’s better. It’s cheaper, and there are more jobs. You could get a college scholarship, probably, if your football keeps going the way it has, and we hate having you so far away from us. There’s lots of reasons, really, that it might be for the best.”

 

There’s silence for a while, Tyler just breathing, and thinking. Trying to figure out what to feel.

 

Staying in Texas, at Stonebridge, getting to play football with Jamie for another year -. Having his mom and his sisters here, too, it’s -. The idea of it is like a fantasy, except.

 

Except for his dad being part of the deal.

 

He wonders if it would be worth it, even then. Even if he had to put up with his asshole father, had to go back to living with the tension and the fear and the anger, back to listening to his dad tell him how worthless he is, how he never does anything right. Back to worrying about protecting his mom and his sisters, back to knowing that he’s the last line of defense if it comes down to it and shit goes sideways.

 

It’s a lot to try and think about.

 

It might still be worth it, though, if that’s the price he has to pay for keeping everything he has here, everything he’s _earned_ here. It might be different here, now that he’s older, now that he’s _better_. Now that Tyler’s doing good and everything, maybe there’d be less for his dad to be so mad about all the time. Maybe he’d even be proud, or something.

 

Or maybe it wouldn’t matter anyway, even if he’s not. Maybe now that he has Jamie and his teammates, his Grandparents and his Aunt Jess and Uncle Mike, it wouldn’t suck quite so bad, even if his dad is the same miserable jerk he’s always been.

 

Or maybe it would be just as bad as ever. Maybe his dad would be pissed that they all had to pick up and move here, just because of Tyler – maybe he’d blame him for it. Maybe it would make things even worse.

 

Tyler doesn’t know, he _just doesn’t know_. He feels like he’s choking.

 

“I mean, I won’t say your father loves the idea of me taking the girls so far away,” his mom is saying, breaking the silence, “But, I mean. It’s not like he’s got much grounds to try and stop us, even if he wanted to, so. I think he gets it, like – that if we decide to go, he’s got to let us.”

 

It takes a minute, but her words start to sink in through the haze of doubt and fear and anxiety that’s currently suffocating Tyler.

 

“Wait,” he starts, and he feels that big joy bubble in his chest expand a little, as he breathes deep. “You’d really -? You mean move here, _without_ him? Just you and the girls?”

 

“Tyler,” she says, soft. “ _Of course_ just us. Obviously, baby.”

 

Tyler almost makes a smart comment about how un-obvious that was, based on, you know, the history of his _whole fucking life_ , but instead he snaps his mouth shut, holds his tongue.

 

In the end he just breathes _holy shit_ _that would be awesome, mom, how fast can you get here?_ And tries to catch his breath while she laughs.

 

He goes to snag some Gatorade from the kitchen after they hang up, and his Grandma’s pulling something delicious-smelling out of the oven, already in her church clothes.

 

“Well, knock me over with a feather,” she teases, “look who’s up!”

 

It’s only 9 a.m., about three hours shy of Tyler’s typical Sunday wake-up call.

 

“Mom called,” he says, “had to tell her all about the game.”

 

She’s dishing up two plates of whatever it is – something cheesy with eggs and sausage and hashbrowns.

 

“She was trying to get the LegacySports live stream to go last night, and she just couldn’t get it worked out,” she says. “I know she was so disappointed she couldn’t watch. I told her they’d have it up on Youtube later today, but I’m sure she’d rather hear it from you.”

 

She shrugs, and hands him the plates.

 

“Take these to the table, baby, would ya?”

 

She pours two coffees while Tyler does as he’s told, one with cream and sugar for her, one black for his Grandpa.

 

“You want me to fix you a plate, or are you goin’ back to sleep?”

 

“Back to sleep,” he says, and she laughs like she’s not even a little surprised to hear it.

 

“We’re headed out for church here in just a little bit, but I’ll leave this to warm in the oven for you boys, whenever you decide to finally roll out of that bed.”

 

She puts the casserole dish back into the oven and turns the dial down.

 

“Mom said that - I guess she talked to my dad. About them moving down?”

 

She pauses with her coffee cup in front of her face, and raises her eyebrows.

 

“And what did he say?” She asks neutrally.

 

Tyler shrugs.

 

“I guess he said he didn’t like the idea, but.”

 

His grandma huffs into her coffee cup.

 

“Exactly - _but_.” She makes a face like she’s disgusted. “ _But_ she doesn’t need his permission, does she, _or_ his approval, and we both know he’s not gonna do a damn thing to try and stop her, not if it means lifting a finger or paying a dime.”

 

She takes a sip of her coffee.

 

“Now if she’ll just decide, and actually _do it_.”

 

Tyler grins. He’s never heard his grandma curse, or say anything remotely mean or derogatory about anyone, ever – not his mom, or even his dad.

 

“Pretty much, yeah,” he confirms, because it’s like she took the words right out of his head. She smiles back at him, and reaches up to put her hand on his cheek.

 

“We would be over the moon to have y’all all down here with us. We’re just _prayin’_ that maybe this time Jackie will -.” She stops and shakes her head. “But - no matter what she decides, we want you here with us just as long as you want to be here, baby. You know that don’t ya?”

 

A warm wave of _something_ rolls over him; he feels himself blushing and he looks at the floor, suddenly all shy. He shrugs unsurely, because no, he hadn’t known that – not really. Not for sure.

 

Anyway, it’s nice to hear it, nice to feel wanted.

 

His grandma wraps her arms around his waist and squeezes him tight.

 

“Well now you know,” she says, “and don’t you forget it.”

 

+++

 

Tyler doesn’t bother going back to sleep, just messes around on his phone until he hears the door to the garage slam. He sneaks out of bed to the kitchen and watches out the window as his Grandpa backs the truck out of the driveway, then he sets the alarm on his phone. It’s 9:30 now, and they don’t get back from church until after noon. That’s a lot of unsupervised private time.

 

He tiptoes back to his room and shuts the door as quiet as he can. He gets a towel from the bathroom, because he’s prepared like that, then he starts losing clothes.

 

He’s already hard by the time he’s shrugged out of his t-shirt and kicked off his sweats.

 

Jamie’s still sleeping like the dead, on his back with his mouth open, snoring softly. Tyler knows, empirically, that it’s not a good look, but his brain and his heart and his dick all insist that it’s cute.

 

He crawls under the covers, and in between Jamie’s legs before he even moves. When he does, it’s with a groan and a full-body stretch, and a snuffling, indecipherable sound of protest.

 

“Shh,” Tyler says, “I’m just gonna,” then he’s tugging at Jamie’s sweats, easing them down in the front along with his underwear. Jamie shifts, still making sleepy, waking-up noises as Tyler exposes his cock to the cold air of the room.

 

“Dude,” he groans, and Tyler just shushes him again, inching his pants and underwear down a little farther so he can pull Jamie’s balls out, too.

 

Jamie’s dick is flushed and thick, not hard yet but not completely soft either, just warm and full from sleep, lying in the cradle of his big, heavy balls and black sweats, looking plump and enticing. Tyler’s mouth legit starts to water, from the musky-salty smell of it.

 

“My grandparents just left for church,” he tells Jamie’s dick, basically, as he noses his way along the side of it. “We’re on our own for, like. Hours.”

 

Jamie whimpers, and then Tyler wraps his fingers around the shaft and feeds Jamie’s dick into his mouth, starts to suck so he can feel it start to fill up, start to grow bigger and harder against his tongue. He palms the balls in his other hand, teasing gently then squeezing even more gently, and Jamie whimpers again.

 

“Yeah,” Tyler tries to encourage him, “you don’t have to be quiet, c’mon.”

 

He bobs his head and sucks, uses his hand for what his mouth can’t reach, while Jamie squirms under him, panting, hips moving in urgent little aborted thrusts.

 

“You can,” Tyler assures him, squeezing him with the hand that’s anchored around his dick, “You’re not gonna choke me, c’mon, do it.”

 

Jamie lets out a high-pitched whine, head thrown back and eyes closed, but his hips start to move, start to thrust a little more freely. Tyler keeps his mouth open and his tongue out, keeps his hand around the base as Jamie pushes his cock in and out of his mouth, and he fucking loves it.

 

It doesn’t take long before Jamie is huffing those little _ah ah ah_ s that let Tyler know he’s close, and he pulls off and strokes Jamie’s spit-slick cock fast and furious, keeping the head pressed against his wet lips while he does it. He keeps stroking while Jamie comes, lets it smear across his lips and his chin.

 

He’s not so sure he’s up for swallowing yet, or even letting Jamie come right in his mouth – like, the taste isn’t totally terrible but the consistency kinda makes him want to gag, if he thinks about a mouth full of it. But he figures it’s probably just as hot to come on someone’s face, and even if it’s not, he knows Jamie’s not going to complain.

 

Jamie’s face when Tyler looks up at it is like nothing he’s seen before. It’s hot and hungry and star-struck and gut-punched, all at once. Tyler would grin at him, but he doesn’t really want to get that jizz in his mouth, so instead he just wiggles his eyebrows, and smirks.

 

“Holy shit,” Jamie huffs, as Tyler grabs the towel and scrubs his face clean.

 

“I know, right?” he says, checking his phone. “That only took, like, 8 minutes. We can go,” he stops to do some quick calculations, “like, 12 more times, or something.”

 

“Why do you want to kill me?” Jamie asks, and sits up to grab Tyler under the arms and haul him up on top.

 

“I want to blow you,” Tyler corrects. “It’s a different thing.”

 

“Not as much as you think,” Jamie laughs into his neck, and then kisses him there. He sucks on Tyler’s earlobe, because he knows it gives Tyler chills every time.

 

“C’mere,” he says, but Tyler’s already there.

 

“Where?”

 

“Up here,” Jamie clarifies, worming his way out from under Tyler to sit up with his back against the wall. “Here.” He makes grabby hands until Tyler climbs up and straddles his hips.

 

“Here?” Tyler asks, wrapping his arms around Jamie’s head and rolling his hips, shoving his underwear-clad hard-on up against Jamie’s stomach, the fabric catching and pulling against Jamie’s t-shirt, creating infuriatingly, deliciously faint friction.

 

“Yeah,” Jamie pants into his mouth, hands going straight to Tyler’s ass, fingers kneading, “right here.”

 

“You like this huh?” Tyler keeps rolling his hips as they make out, squirming and panting against Jamie’s mouth and his body, until he’s so hot he wants to die, until he needs to come so bad he can’t take it.

 

“Please,” he whimpers, “I need,” and just like that Jamie’s hand is shoved down in between their bodies, gripping Tyler’s cock through his underwear, amping up the friction like crazy, but he wants to feel Jamie’s skin on his skin.

 

“More,” he says, “c’mon, your hand.”

 

“This is my hand,” Jamie grins against his mouth, and laughs when Tyler whines.

 

“Oh,” he says, all innocent like he’s just getting it, “you mean like _this_?”

 

His hand slides under the waistband of Tyler’s underwear and wraps around, hot and tight. Tyler groans.

 

“You’re an asshole,” he pants, as Jamie jerks him with quick, short strokes.

 

“You like it,” Jamie insists, and Tyler comes all over his hand.

 

+++

 

“Forty-two minutes left,” Tyler announces. He’s been counting down the time after every time they get off, as they’ve been rolling around together, humping and grinding, slowly managing to get all the way naked. He even remembered his secret stash of lube at some point, which made it that much easier to do Tyler’s current favorite thing in life - sliding their cocks together while Jamie lays on top of him, big body covering him completely, kissing him stupid.

 

Currently the orgasm count sits at 4 apiece, which is not quite on pace for 12, but still pretty impressive for a time span of roughly an hour and 45 minutes. But they can both use a little recovery time, so Tyler ambles to the kitchen naked and comes back with Gatorades and oat bars. He’s getting hungry, but real food can wait. Right now he’s on the clock, and he’s not about to waste time on dumb, comparatively unimportant things like _eating_ as long as privacy and Jamie’s naked body are still his for the taking.

 

Jamie’s propped against the wall again, and Tyler climbs right up into his lap where, as he now knows, Jamie likes him. Tyler likes it too – even better when they’re naked like they are now. He pulls the blankets up around his shoulders, because it’s December and the house is fucking cold.

 

“So what about you?” he asks, while they eat their snacks and hydrate. “You’ve done shit with girls, obviously. So tell me.”

 

Jamie immediately goes bright red, and coughs around his mouthful of oat bar. He takes a swig of Gatorade to wash it down, and also to stall, Tyler’s pretty sure.

 

“I can’t just -.” He shrugs. “You know I’m not good at, like. Talking.”

 

Tyler rolls his eyes.

 

“Dude. I told you _everything_.”

 

“I _know_.” Jamie looks uncomfortable. “I know, it’s not fair, I just. I don’t think I can - . It’s too embarrassing, or whatever.”

 

“Uh huh,” Tyler says, speculative, and narrows his eyes. He swallows the last of his oat bar and downs the last of his Gatorade, throws the bottle off the end of the bed. He takes Jamie’s out of his hands and puts it on the bedside table.

 

“How about this,” he says, and wraps his arms back around Jamie’s shoulders, brings his mouth down to Jamie’s ear. “I’ll ask yes or no questions, you answer. Think you can handle that?”

 

He can feel Jamie nod.

 

“Yeah. I mean. Probably, yeah.”

 

“You better,” Tyler snorts into his neck. “See, I’m not even looking at you, okay?”

 

Jamie nods again.

 

“Okay.”

 

His hands land on the small of Tyler’s back, soft and loose. Tyler settles in, with his chin on Jamie’s shoulder and his fingers threaded into Jamie’s hair.

 

“Anybody besides Addie, or was she it?” Is his opener. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been dying to know.

 

“Just her,” Jamie confirms.

 

“So obviously, kissing.”

 

“Yep.” Jamie pops the p and squeezes his fingers into the swell of Tyler’s ass at the same time.

 

Tyler wiggles in his lap and his balls drag against Jamie’s dick.

 

“Not fair,” Jamie says, and Tyler grins into his clavicle.

 

He starts rapid-firing questions.

 

“Hand jobs?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Both ways?”

 

“Uh, I’m a gentleman? _Yes_.”

 

Tyler snorts, and moves on.

 

“Just grinding, like?” he pushes his hips into Jamie’s by way of example, and it’s Jamie’s turn to snort.

 

“I know what grinding is, thanks. And yes.”

 

“Oral?”

 

There’s not an immediate answer, and Tyler pulls back, forgets he’s not supposed to be looking.

 

“No oral?”

 

Jamie shrugs, looking pink and uncomfortable, some more.

 

“It wasn’t.” He shakes his head. “I guess it just never came up.”

 

“In three years?” Tyler finds that difficult to believe.

 

“Well, I mean,” Jamie looks exasperated, “we were like _thirteen_ , in the beginning, so. Probably oral wasn’t really like, on the table?”

 

“So wait, that was it?” Tyler’s confused. “That was as far as it went, just, like – grinding and handies?”

 

Tyler doesn’t want to brag or anything, but he’s already gotten that far with Jamie and it’s been like, a month.

 

Jamie turns a much deeper, more alarming shade of red and looks very decidedly at Tyler’s shoulder instead of his face, and suddenly Tyler understands.

 

“Oh my God,” he croaks. “You fucked her.”

 

Jamie cringes visibly.

 

“Can you not say it like that, please?”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Tyler says immediately. “I just. I didn’t know you two were all, like. _Sexually active_ , and shit.”

 

He feels insecure, suddenly, feels compelled to pull the blankets tighter around himself, so he’s a little more covered.

 

“No, it wasn’t - .” Jamie closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the wall with a _thunk_. “God, it just. It wasn’t like that, okay?” He says to the ceiling, before opening his eyes and looking at Tyler again.

 

“It was – we did it once.”

 

“Oh,” is all Tyler’s got.

 

“We were breaking up. I mean, I’d already told her – it was like I said before. Things just felt too serious, like it was all getting really. _Intense_. And I told her I thought we should, you know. Maybe not be so serious, maybe just be friends for a while. And she.”

 

He sighs, chews on a finger nail for awhile before he goes on.

 

“She said she always thought her first time would be with me, and she still wanted it to be. So.”

 

“So it was, like.” Tyler shrugs, incredulous. “What? A parting gift?”

 

“I don’t know, okay,” Jamie moans, sounding miserable, and that is _not_ how he should sound when they’re naked and Tyler is in his lap. Like, not at all.

 

“Hey,” Tyler says, bringing their faces close until they’re forehead to forehead, nose to nose. “It’s – whatever. Not my business, Iike, at all - but I mean. You’re like, pretty much the best guy there is, and like, also extremely bang-able, so. Not like I can blame her.”

 

“Shut up,” Jamie snorts and tries to duck away, but Tyler won’t let him, keeps him trapped there, wrapped up in Tyler’s arms.

 

“You think I’m lying?” He presses their mouths together, soft and sweet, and wishes he could say it in so many words: _I want you to be my first, too_. But he can’t – at least, not now. Not _yet_.

 

What he can do is ghost his finger tips over Jamie’s nipples and watch him shiver.

 

“Did she do this?” he whispers, smirking, and Jamie shakes his head.

 

“Not really,” he croaks.

 

“But you like it.” Tyler is pointing out the obvious, really, given the way Jamie’s dick is fattening up underneath his ass, just from Tyler kissing him and groping his chest.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Did you do it to her?” He pulls Jamie’s arms from around him and pulls them pointedly up to his own chest. Jamie stares at his hands on Tyler’s body, cups his palms around Tyler’s pecs with this _look_ on his face, like he’s seeing them for the first time, or something. His thumbs trail back and forth across Tyler’s nipples, and he watches them go hard and tight.

 

“Did you?” Tyler whispers, and Jamie shrugs.

 

“I guess, yeah.”

 

“Do you miss it?” It feels so fucking thirsty to even ask, but Tyler still doesn’t really know, doesn’t understand what Jamie’s _doing_ here, with him.

 

Jamie buries his face in Tyler’s neck, obviously hiding.

 

“Miss what?” He mumbles.

 

“I dunno. Boobs, I guess?”

 

Jamie snorts, but he picks his head up and looks at Tyler before he shakes his head. He takes a deep breath, like he’s bracing himself.

 

“I didn’t,” he starts, and shakes his head and starts again. “It’s not so much that blow jobs never _came up_ , really.” He swallows thickly, eyes cutting away, then back to Tyler’s, then away again.

 

“It’s just. I didn’t want her to do it to me, because I didn’t want it to be unfair, and I. I didn’t want to do it to her.”

 

He pauses, and Tyler waits.

 

“That wasn’t -. It’s just not what I wanted.”

 

Jamie bites his lip and stares at Tyler’s shoulder, and Tyler feels his heart rate spike, his stomach does the swoopy thing.

 

“What did you want?” He prompts, soft and cautious, watching Jamie’s face.

 

Jamie sighs, and ducks his head back into Tyler’s neck.

 

“I guess, just. _This_ ,” he sighs, and suddenly that big balloon of joy that’s been sitting in Tyler’s chest since last night expands and expands and expands and expands, until he’s so full of it he can’t even breathe, but it doesn’t even matter.

 

Who needs to breathe, when you’ve got a sweet, beautiful, naked boy underneath you, telling you _this_ is what he’s wanted all along?

 

“Jamie,” Tyler breathes out on a sigh, and it feels like they melt against each other, their arms pulling each other in, mouths crashing together and bodies pressed tight all at once.

 

“I wanna blow you,” Jamie mumbles into his mouth, “I really, I wanted to earlier, I just. Can I?” He kisses Tyler some more, before he asks, “do we still have time?”

 

Tyler pulls his mouth away to check his phone.

 

“Eleven minutes,” he pants.

 

“Is that - ?” Jamie looks unsure, but Tyler just rolls his eyes.

 

“I’ll be lucky to make it to five,” he says, climbing out of Jamie’s lap, “so c’mon, show me what you got.”

 

+++

 

On the morning of the State Final, Tyler wakes up with Jamie beside him and a tight, anxious feeling in his chest. He knows he probably shouldn’t feel such a strong sense of loss for something that’s not even gone yet; he shouldn’t be lying here wondering if he’ll ever have another season as good as this one has been, when it’s the biggest game of his life tonight and he needs to be fucking focused on that.

 

He watches Jamie’s long lashes flutter, then those dark, dark eyes are trained on him, and the feeling of loss just gets intensified somehow. This is the team, this is the year, this is the season where he met Jamie, where Jamie turned into his friend and then his – whatever they are, and it’s about to end.

 

He knows it’s a dumb thing to feel sad about, when Jamie’s smiling at him like he’s smiling now, with his big hand curled over Tyler’s hip, almost proprietary, more sure than he’s ever been with Tyler before.

  
“Morning, sunshine.”

  
“Morning,” Jamie croaks back at him.

 

“You ready for all this?”

 

“I don’t know, dude. I hope.”

 

Tyler grins up at him, runs a hand along the back of Jamie’s neck and squeezes.

 

“Of course you are. You’re like, _made_ to be the winning QB in the State Championship. It’s like, you couldn’t _not_ be.”

 

Jamie snorts but grins, ducks his head a little.

 

“I’ll take your word for it.”

 

Jamie’s eyes are still soft in the morning, game face not on yet, and Tyler likes the way Jamie looks, likes the way Jamie looks _at him_ , right now, face pale and hair all soft and messy, no product sculpting his hair, no pads, no helmet - none of his armor in place.

 

“It’ll be weird when it’s over, that’s for sure.”

 

“But awesome,” Tyler points out “Think of all the free time. For y’know. Activities.”

 

Tyler wiggles his eyebrows and Jamie blushes, because he’s just so fucking easy to get with that shit.

 

Tyler huffs a laugh at him, and Jamie raises up on his elbow, pulls Tyler’s head up and plants a long, warm kiss against his forehead.

 

“Okay,” he says, like Tyler’s convinced him. “We’re gonna do this; tonight we’re gonna be State Champs. We’ve worked too hard, and we’re too good for it to go any other way.”

 

Tyler smiles, and it’s sincere, but the heavy feeling doesn’t go away.

 

Basically since he’s known Jamie, they’ve been focused on the same goal, and then on each other, and on nothing else. They’ve ignored any future beyond whatever game they need to win that week. They’ve never talked at all about the realities of what they’re doing, of what it means for each of them individually or what it means for them, together.

 

Tyler knows now’s not the time, knows he needs to focus on the task at hand, but it’s there, nagging, in the back of his mind.

 

Cowboys Stadium – _Jerry World_ , they love to call it around Dallas – is, of course, insane. It was a mindfuck just being down on the field for their walk-through yesterday, but today, with the stands full of fans for all six teams playing today, it’s especially overwhelming.

 

Between the marching bands and the cheerleaders and the drill teams and the mascots and the unique things every team brings with them, be it smoke machines or strobe lights or cannons or air raid sirens or people running with giant flags or inflatable Star tunnels, the place is a madhouse. They announce the official attendance at fifty-four thousand and change.

 

Fifty. Four. _Thousand_.

 

Honestly, the game itself almost feels like an afterthought.

 

They play Pearland, a school from the Houston suburbs. They’re tied at the end of the first, but then the nerves wear off and the Stars run away with it. They win by 35.

 

In Massachusetts, what they call the High School Super Bowl is played the first weekend in December. In Texas it takes three extra wins and three extra weeks to make it all the way to the State Championship, all the way until the Saturday before Christmas. The good news is, they’re already out of school, and they’ve got two weeks of break ahead of them to celebrate, and recuperate, and just, like, take a fucking breath.

 

Also because it’s so close to Christmas, Tyler’s mom and sisters are down again; they’re here for the holidays, but also for his mom to look for a job. Tyler’s going with his mom to check out potential apartments on Monday, because she says he knows the area better than she does, these days, and she needs his input. He’s not sure yet if she’s for real about this or not, but he’s cautiously optimistic.

 

When he comes out of the locker room after the game they’re all there, his Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt and Uncle and cousins, his mom and sisters, all crowded around him when Mr. Benn comes up to shake his hand and tell him he had _a helluva game, helluva season_. He tells Tyler how much he’s helped Jamie’s game develop this year, how much everybody’s looking forward to another season of the two of them playing together.

 

“That’s Randy Benn,” he hears his Grandpa telling his Uncle Mike after Jamie’s dad walks away. “You’re not old enough to remember, but he was really somethin’ at OU. Not as good as his kid, though.”

 

Tyler tells Jamie what Mr. Benn said, then he tells him what his Grandpa said, too, on the bus back to Stonebridge after the game. Jamie blushes and looks shyly pleased about both. Their pinkies brush inconspicuously in the space between their bodies.

 

+++

 

So, Tyler low-key has a boyfriend.

 

Not that they’ve said that to each other, exactly. And not that they _could_ ever say it to anyone _but_ each other, because, obviously. But still, it’s sort of a trip to think about.

 

A boyfriend.

 

_Jamie Benn_ , the five star recruit, the heir apparent to the Texas High School passing yards record, the guy listed as the number 1 passing quarterback in his class on Rivals.com, is Tyler’s boyfriend. Like, not officially, but still, like, _definitely._

 

Which is just - insanity.

 

Two days after Christmas they somehow find themselves alone in Jamie’s house. Tyler’s house is still stuffed full of his family, so he’s been ignoring his mother’s knowing looks and offering to sleep at Jamie’s, under the thin cover story that if he’s out of the way, the girls can sleep in his bed instead of on a blow-up mattress on the floor of the living room.

 

This morning, though, Jamie’s mom and his sister left to hit the post-Christmas sales, and Jamie’s dad and Jordie are gone for three days deer hunting down in Kerrville, so Tyler takes the opportunity to get Jamie naked and show him the _Boyfriends fucking in dorm room_ guys.

 

“What,” Jamie says, already flushed from making out but going even pinker when Tyler shows him what’s on his screen. “Uh.”

 

Tyler rolls his eyes.

 

“Are you gonna try to tell me you don’t watch porn?”

 

“I mean,” Jamie says, looking uncomfortable, “not like, with other people?”

 

“It’s not _other people_ ,” Tyler says sensibly. “It’s me.”

 

He pulls the lube out of his backpack and climbs back under the covers of the bed, where Jamie’s waiting. He positions himself in front of Jamie so they’re lying on their right sides, Tyler’s back to Jamie’s chest. This way, they can have the laptop on the bed in front of Tyler where they can both see, and Jamie can have his dominant left hand free for – well. For whatever Tyler needs it for.

 

He starts the video, but it’s one of the long ones and he has a specific part in mind. He moves the video ahead until it’s right around the time he wants.

 

“Dude!” Jamie sounds scandalized. “How many times have you watched this? You’ve like, got it memorized?”

 

Tyler looks back over his shoulder and smirks at the look on Jamie’s face.

 

“It’s one of my top 5 favorites,” he says by way of explanation. “Just watch.”

 

When the video picks up, the boys are on their sides, front to back, just like Tyler and Jamie. Tyler pours some lube in his hand, slicks over his cock and balls then back behind them, too, while he watches.

 

The camera angle is from the end of the bed, pointed up toward the place where the boy in back – the one with the tattoo on his calf – is guiding his cock into the body of the boy in front of him. The boy in front has his arm wrapped around the back of the thigh of his top leg, pulling it up toward his chest and out of the way, exposing himself to the camera. All of him is on display, his hard dick and his balls and the smooth expanse of skin behind them, and his asshole, opening slowly for his boyfriend’s cock. All of it is shiny with lube, and his hand is fondling his own balls, sometimes moving up to stroke loosely at his cock. He pants and whimpers as his boyfriend fucks into him.

 

Tyler feels as much as hears Jamie’s sharp intake of breath, when he understands what he’s looking at.

 

“Hot, right?” Tyler whispers, and he feels Jamie’s nod against his shoulder before Jamie croaks out a low _yeah._

 

The boy in back gets his cock all the way in, then he also pulls his top leg up and out of the way, so the camera has a clear view of his balls and his ass, and the place where his cock disappears into the other boy’s body. He wraps his fingers around the back of his boyfriend’s raised thigh, and starts to thrust. As always, you can hear the sounds of them murmuring to each other, even though you can’t see their faces.

 

You can tell by the way he twists his body, the boy in front is turning his head back, then there’s the wet sound of them kissing. There are low grunts and higher, breathier sighs and moans, and that tattooed forearm flexing as his fingers dig into the thickest part of the other boy’s thigh.

 

“Baby,” one of them groans, low and soft, but just loud enough to be heard, “you feel so _good_.”

 

Tyler jacks his hard dick a few more times, then pours more lube into his hand and turns his attention to the hard dick that’s currently pressed against his ass.

 

He reaches back between their bodies and strokes Jamie with his slick hand, just enough to get him nice and slippery. Then he runs his wet fingers down the crack of his own ass, smearing the lube around and down between his legs, till his fingers meet the already-slick skin behind his balls.

 

“Tyler, what?” Jamie’s voice is too high, choked and unsure with a little edge of panic in it, but Tyler just shushes him.

 

“It’s not -. I don’t mean _that_ ,” he says, and wraps his fingers around Jamie’s dick again. “Just, like,” he scoots his ass back, tilts his hips so he can press the length of Jamie’s erection in between his legs, up behind his balls. “Just this,” he moves his hand, squeezes his legs together. “See?”

 

Jamie breathes deep, wraps his left hand around Tyler’s hip and digs his fingers in hard. He doesn’t move.

 

“C’mon,” Tyler encourages, “just, y’know.” He pushes his hips back as far as he can, feels the slide of Jamie’s thick cock, slick and hot over his asshole as he tilts his hips forward, then nudging up against his balls when he tilts his hips back again. They both let out little moans.

 

“Move,” he insists, “c’mon,” and finally, Jamie does.

 

It’s dark and quiet in Jamie’s room, the only sounds are the noises coming from the video, and the eerily similar noises coming from Tyler and Jamie. They get a rhythm going, Jamie actually thrusting now, moving his hips like - well, like he would if they were actually fucking. Tyler’s stomach goes molten hot at the very idea, little frissons of heat sparking through him at the newness of all these sensations at once, the tease of Jamie’s dick sliding just a little way into the crack of his ass, the slap of Jamie’s hips against his when he thrusts.

 

He grabs Jamie’s hand, pries it off his hip and pulls it down to wrap it around his aching hard-on.

 

“Do it,” he whimpers, and Jamie groans into his back, leaves his wet mouth there, pressed against Tyler’s bare skin while he watches the screen over Tyler’s shoulder. His hand starts to move on Tyler’s dick, and Tyler growls out a low _yeah._

 

One of the boys on screen makes a needy, animal sound, and the one in front starts to jerk himself faster, still dipping his fingers down to run over his own balls, farther back to feel where their bodies are joined together, but he’s close now, you can tell. He strokes himself more and more urgently.

 

Jamie’s hand on Tyler’s cock speeds up too, in time with the rhythm of his hips.

 

When the boy in front comes, he whines once then his hand stills. You can actually see his balls contracting, and then jizz drips over his fingers.

 

“Oh my god,” Jamie whispers into Tyler’s neck, and Tyler would wholeheartedly agree if he was capable of speech at this point.

 

The boy in the back thrusts four or five more times, then his cock slides free and he comes right onto the loose pucker of the other boy’s exposed asshole, jizz sliding down until he scoops it up with the head of his cock and thrusts back inside. He grinds his hips in, letting out a low, laughing groan, then the boy in front twists his body again, and you can hear the smacking sounds of them kissing again, giggling and whispering _love you, love you_ , as they do.

 

Jamie makes a pained noise, huffs his tell-tale little _ah ah_ with his fist squeezed tight around Tyler’s dick, then Tyler can feel the wet heat of Jamie coming between his legs. He groans at the feeling.

 

“God, _fuck_ ,” Jamie grits out, grinding his hips in tighter against Tyler’s ass, cock pressing up into Tyler’s balls so hard it’s almost enough to hurt. It makes Tyler think of the way the tattooed guy fucked his jizz into his boyfriend and then ground his hips in just like Jamie’s doing now, and he lets out a low whine and comes all over Jamie’s fist.

 

“Holy shit,” Tyler pants, eventually, and Jamie huffs out an incredulous laugh.

 

“Holy shit,” he agrees, and gives Tyler’s over-sensitive cock a friendly squeeze, earning a yelp from Tyler and a kick in the shin.

 

“That was crazy hot.” Tyler doesn’t think he’s going out on a limb with this declaration.

 

“Ya think?” Jamie laughs again, and smacks a kiss on Tyler’s cheek. Tyler cranes his head back so Jamie’s mouth can reach his, and their tongues tangle together, sloppy and completely unconcerned about it.

 

“Maybe we should have made a video of _that_ ,” Tyler says. “I mean, we’re at least as hot as those guys, right?”

 

“I dunno,” Jamie rumbles into his ear, wrapping Tyler up tight in his giant fucking arms, squeezing him till he squirms. “I’m not sure _Boyfriends not actually fucking at parents’ house_ would get quite as many clicks.”

 

So yeah, Tyler totally has a boyfriend.

 

+++

 

Pretty much, the rest of Tyler’s school year goes like this: he has English and Technology and Euro History, then he hauls ass to lunch and if he gets there early enough to snag the seat next to Jamie, he gets to sit with his knee pressed up against Jamie’s under the table.

 

Then he has Algebra II and Spanish and then finally Athletics. He dresses out and tries to keep from stealing looks at Jamie’s ass in the locker room and lifts weights and does drills and runs sprints and cuts up and jokes around with the boys and gets to watch Jamie’s arms while he spots him on bench. Then he showers while resolutely facing the wall and keeping his eyes on the tile in front of him, dresses as fast as he can in an effort to avoid any embarrassing public incidents caused by general proximity to Jamie’s naked body.

 

In January, Tyler turns 16 and gets his license and his Grandpa’s old pickup for his birthday.

 

In February, Michael Sam – reigning Defensive Player of the Year in the conference generally acknowledged to be the best in College football – comes out in an interview with ESPN. He says his team knew before his Senior season, and they were supportive; he says they treated him just the same and they all respected his privacy and kept his secret until he was ready to tell it. Tyler reads all the comments online and a lot of them are supportive, or at least saying it should be a non-issue. It’s almost enough to make Tyler feel hopeful, _except_. Anonymous NFL executives are quoted as saying Sam’s draft stock will definitely drop, and the Westboro Baptist Church carries signs saying _God Hates Fags_ to a Basketball game on the campus at Mizzou, because they know Sam will be there. Students organize a counter protest to support him. Tyler mostly just feels confused, and a little sick to his stomach.

 

In the Stars locker room, it’s a hot topic. There are a lot of guys who insist it doesn’t matter as long as the guy can play, and a lot who say they wouldn’t want to play with a homo. There’s a third group who say it might be okay, as long as the guy didn’t look at their junk, or get too close to them while they’re naked, or otherwise _act_ _too gay_.

 

Jamie weighs in with the _it doesn’t matter_ crowd, only because he’s asked a direct question. Tyler averts his eyes, and doesn’t say anything at all.

 

He grows another inch and puts on 15 pounds of muscle in the weight room and makes the honor roll again. His Grandma helps get his mom a job as the Office Manager of her Dentist’s office, and they fly Tyler up to Boston for Spring Break to help them pack up and make the move. He gets to see Brownie and all his boys from Slummerville, and even Marchy comes by to see him before he goes. His mom and the girls move into a one bedroom apartment for the time being, until his mom can get on her feet, so Tyler stays at his Grandparents’ house. He takes Jamie out in his new-old truck and parks way out in the country under the stars, far enough away from everything and everyone that they can spread a sleeping bag in the bed of the truck and make out there, uninterrupted, for hours.

In May Michael Sam falls all the way to the last round of the NFL draft, then he kisses his boyfriend on live television. Tyler feels exposed, like a raw nerve, like his skin is inside out when he sees it.

 

The talk in the Stars locker room shifts from generally tolerant of the idea of a gay guy in the locker room, to openly grossed-out by that kiss. The message is clear: ideally, don’t be gay. If you have to be gay, try not to tell us about it. And if you absolutely have to tell us about it, for the love of God, don’t _show_ it to us. That’s crossing a line you can't come back from.

 

Tyler watches the video clip of Sam kissing his boyfriend approximately six hundred times. He and Jamie never talk about it at all.

 

Jamie goes on recruiting visits to Alabama and Texas and OU and A&M and LSU, and FaceTimes Tyler from each of them, talking through the pros and cons of every program and looking super stressed out. In the end he gives his verbal commitment to OU in May. Tyler can’t shake the feeling that it’s not what Jamie actually _wants_ to do, but he understands why he does it. He’s tired of the pressure, tired of the attention, tired of people constantly asking him about it. It’s easy for Tyler or Jordie, or even Mr. Benn to tell him he can make a different choice if he wants to, but it’s another thing to actually _make_ another choice, and then have to live with the consequences. Tyler just hugs him when it’s done, a strictly platonic, one arm bro-hug because Jamie’s family is all around, then holds him tight later that night in Jamie’s bed, and talks up Oklahoma and how great Jamie’s going to do there.

 

They live in each other’s pockets, just like before. They get each other off in an ever-expanding variety of ways, every single chance they get. Jamie is still right there with him, on the same page, even without the pressure cooker of the season and the steadily building tension of an extended playoff run to bind them, without the common goal to focus on, to pull them together like magnets.

 

At first, Tyler had been worried that maybe when the season ended, they’d realize that’s all it had been. But it’s obvious now, there’s something else between them that pulls them together like magnets. There’s an extra layer now, beyond just buddies who hook up, beyond even buddies who have established, just casually, that they’re, like, pretty into each other. There’s something deeper, something _sweeter_ , in the way they talk to each other and touch each other now, when no one’s looking.

 

During the season everything was just so crazy, so busy and intense, there just wasn’t really time for Tyler to make mental adjustments, to spend too much mental energy trying to make sense of this whole new reality where Jamie is something more important, more _real_ to him now than just his friend and teammate and crush who he gets to kiss and make out with sometimes. When it started, the thing between them felt almost outside of real life, suspended in time. But since the season has ended – once they could finally take their eyes off the prize they’d been trying to win and finally celebrate actually _winning it_ – they’ve settled into this new version of themselves where they’re more open, more honest and intimate with each other. They’re softer now, more used to this thing between them and less afraid of it.

 

Tyler feels closer to Jamie than he’s ever been to anyone in his life, including Brownie – which is fucking saying something. Jamie is an ache in Tyler’s chest all the time, a beautiful, terrifying, bottomless well of overwhelming want and need and fondness and affection and respect and trust and _love_.

 

They live and breathe each other every day, every night that they can. They talk about the things they’ve done and the things they want to do, the things they fantasize about but probably aren’t ready to do yet; they talk about the first guys they ever had crushes on and when they realized they sometimes liked other boys in a way other boys didn’t. They talk about their families and their dreams and their fears, and everything, pretty much, but they don’t talk about the fact that everything else aside, Jamie can’t actually _do this._

 

If Michael Sam did anything, it was remind them of what they already knew was true.

 

Jamie can’t be the top high school recruit in Texas and all that entails, and also be gay, much less have a boyfriend. He doesn’t get to be both.

 

It just doesn’t work that way.

 

And not talking about it doesn’t change the fact that deep down Tyler knows, this thing they’re building slowly between them, one day and one night and one smile and one touch and one secret, whispered admission at a time, will only ever be just that – between _them_. Because it can only be acknowledged in parked cars on deserted side roads and under the covers of Tyler’s bed at night. It only exists in dark hidden corners and in rooms with closed doors.

 

As long as it lasts, it will always be relegated to the shadows, kept in the dark and away from the light.

 

Jamie knows it too, of course – he must – but they just don’t _talk_ about it. By unspoken agreement, they’re ignoring the fact that there’s just nowhere this can _go_.

 

+++

 

“I can’t believe you’ve never been stoned before.” Tyler passes Jamie the joint, watches him inhale. He expects a cough, a little sputter or something, but Jamie just breathes in and out, smooth and easy.

 

“Look at that,” he grins, “you’re a natural.”

 

Jamie looks at him with hooded eyes and a sly little smirk, and Tyler can almost see the beginnings of a joke forming in his brain, something about blow jobs and lots of practice sucking, but he lets it go, just shakes his head and takes another hit.

 

“When’s the last time you did this?” Jamie passes the joint back.

 

“Cape Cod party, last summer,” Tyler says, and that’s all he needs to say. Jamie knows all about what happened at the Cape Cod party.

 

They’re in the pool at Tyler’s Grandparents house. His Grandma and Grandpa are out of town for two weeks, RVing through Colorado, so they’ve had 10 days now of relative privacy, the whole house to themselves. Tyler’s mom hasn’t asked too many questions, or said anything about how much Jamie’s staying over, but she had another sex talk with him, made him promise again about the condoms.

 

He rolled his eyes and promised, grumbling, _like I’m really doing anything that needs a condom._

 

She just looked at him appraisingly, judging if he was lying or not, then nodded.

 

Tyler passes the joint back to Jamie, watches him tip his head back and inhale, fingers to his lips. His wet hair is slicked back, brown summer skin reflecting the late afternoon sun. Tyler observes how much broader he’s gotten just in the last six months, how much wider and more defined his shoulders and chest look, how his bicep pops with his arm flexed like that, how the veins in his forearm stand out against the thick muscle underneath.

 

Tyler’s gotten off more times in the last 10 days than he has in probably his whole life put together, previous to his Grandparents’ vacation, but still it’s not enough. It’s like it’s never enough, like the more of Jamie he gets, the more he needs.

 

Like he can read Tyler’s mind, Jamie looks up and smirks, raises an eyebrow when he catches him staring.

 

Tyler just shrugs, shameless.

 

“You look so fuckin’ hot, over there,” he grins and shoves off the wall he’s been leaning against, glides closer to Jamie. “Like, this whole situation?” he goes on, running his hands up over Jamie’s arms, across his shoulders and down his chest, “just straight up sexy as hell.”

 

Jamie blushes under his summer tan, because he’s Jamie, but he doesn’t try to deflect, doesn’t tell Tyler to shut up like he would have at one point. Instead he gives Tyler a smoldering look from under his long lashes.

 

“Yeah?” He still looks like he doesn’t quite believe it, but Tyler’s wearing him down, starting to convince him that he means it.

 

Jamie props the joint against the upside down bottle cap they’ve been ashing into, grabs Tyler by the hips, and spins him so his back’s facing Jamie.

 

“Well,” he says, sliding his hands down Tyler’s flanks, then back up over his ass, squeezing. “Same goes for this _whole situation_.”

 

Tyler shivers at Jamie’s low, rumbling voice in his ears, then again at Jamie’s wet lips sliding across his shoulder, up the side of his neck to nose behind his ear. He cranes his neck around to kiss Tyler’s cheek, says, “this one, too.”

 

His hands come around to slide low across Tyler’s belly, tracing the dips and terraces Tyler’s worked so hard all Spring and Summer to put there. “And this,” Jamie adds, and bites down on Tyler’s earlobe.

 

Tyler preens under the attention; he’s never even tried to pretend he’s not a sucker for praise and compliments.

 

He leans back against that thick chest, and just lounges there for a while, his head tipped back against Jamie’s shoulder, Jamie’s arms wrapped loosely around him. He makes grabby hands at the joint, and when Jamie hands it back Tyler takes a hit then pulls Jamie’s mouth down to his, shotguns the smoke straight past Jamie’s lips when he exhales.

 

They finish the joint like that, then stay there in the silence, watching the sun fade.

 

“How do you feel?” Tyler prompts, nudging his temple along Jamie’s jaw. Jamie’s been slowly dragging his chin back and forth across Tyler’s shoulder for the last few minutes, so Tyler thinks he has some idea.

 

He still can’t believe he talked Jamie into this, but he likes the idea of putting his name next to another first in Jamie’s life. He also likes the idea of seeing Jamie totally chill, for once, relaxed and unworried and floaty and free.

 

That’s the way Tyler feels when he’s high, anyway. He hopes Jamie does, too.

 

“Kinda,” Jamie says slowly, considering. “Tingly. Like, slow? But. Different from drunk.”

 

“Yeah,” Tyler nods his approval. “Good, right?”

 

“Good,” Jamie agrees, and they’re quiet awhile longer.

 

“It’s like, really beautiful,” Jamie says, about the sunset Tyler assumes, and Tyler grins.

 

“Yeah, you’re definitely high.”

 

“ _You’re_ definitely high,” Jamie counters, then leans in close to Tyler’s ear. “And beautiful, too, y’know?”

 

Tyler’s stomach does the swoopy thing, and he can feel his face burn. He suddenly has to fight off the urge to deflect, to tell Jamie to _shut up_ , the way Jamie always used to when Tyler said anything too nice about him.

 

Beautiful is just not something they say, not a word they use in general, and definitely not about each other, and it hits Tyler deeper than anything Jamie’s ever managed to say before. Even though Tyler knows it’s the weed talking – still.

 

“You know how you don’t drink around people?”

 

Jamie’s squeezing him tighter now, running his nose up and down Tyler’s neck.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well, definitely never let anyone smoke you up at college, okay?” He reaches an arm back to tug at Jamie’s hair.

 

“Okay,” Jamie says agreeably, but Tyler’s pretty sure he doesn’t understand what Tyler’s implying.

 

“You smell so fucking good,” he adds, apropos of nothing, breathing deep and basically burying his face in Tyler’s arm pit. They got into the pool straight from their afternoon workout, and Tyler seriously doubts the the combination of workout funk, sunscreen and chlorine can be that appealing, but Jamie’s dick obviously feels differently. It’s nudging insistently at Tyler’s ass all of a sudden, as Jamie breathes him in, again.

 

It strikes Tyler as funny, suddenly, or maybe he’s just ticklish with Jamie nosing around under his arm.

 

Either way he lets out a peal of giggles, and Jamie just digs his face deeper into Tyler’s arm pit. He makes an exaggerated growling noise, which just makes Tyler giggle louder, then scoops Tyler up in his arms like a baby.

 

Or like a bride, being carried across the threshold.

 

“I’m taking you inside,” he announces, while Tyler cackles and shrieks and shoves at his arms. Jamie makes it up the steps to the pool still holding him that way, then slings Tyler over his shoulder in a Fireman’s carry to haul him the rest of the way to the house, both of them dripping wet.

 

It’s just the kind of reckless stunt a sober Jamie would never _think_ of pulling. Tyler laughs so hard he thinks he might legit die from it.

 

Later, once they’ve stripped the bed of the sheets that were already, frankly, disgusting - even before they rolled around on them soaking wet - and mopped up the watery trail they left from the back door through the living room and kitchen and into the bedroom, they dump all the towels and bedding into the washing machine and lie back down on the bare mattress, naked, with a throw blanket from the couch.

 

Jamie pulls Tyler up against him and pets at his stomach, his thighs, fondles his soft cock and balls and wraps his big hand around them like a pouch, so they’re tucked up warm and protected.

 

“Fits perfect,” he says, and Tyler giggles some more, but it makes something flutter in his belly.

 

He’s always felt like they fit together perfectly, every part of them, from the very beginning. On the field, their games complement each other, off the field, their approaches to the game complements each other. They like the same things – besides that _fucking_ country music - laugh at the same jokes, and when they’re like this, their bodies line up perfectly.

 

The few times they’ve ever held hands, that worked perfectly too, Tyler’s smaller fingers slipped in between Jamie’s thicker ones, just enough space for them under the big knobs of his knuckles.

 

Tyler still jerks off thinking about how Jamie’s dick might fit just perfectly up inside him, and he tells Jamie about thinking about it sometimes, now, when they’re not together and sexting, because Jamie is terrible at actual phone sex, or God forbid FaceTime sex.

 

The condoms his mom bought last Thanksgiving are still hidden in the pocket of that hoodie in his closet, wrapped in their Walgreens bags, and he’s good with that. Just talking about it, thinking about it when he knows Jamie’s thinking about it, too, is enough for right now.

 

Jamie keeps his hand cupped around Tyler’s junk, face pressed against the back of Tyler’s neck as his breathing starts to slow down and even out. Tyler waits until he thinks Jamie is probably asleep, his heart pounding in his chest anyway, to whisper _I love you._

 

He holds his breath, not sure if he wants Jamie to have heard, or if he hopes he’s sleeping.

 

Jamie doesn’t move at all, but he rumbles a sleepy _you, too_ without missing a beat, no hesitation at all.

 

+++

 

Tyler has visions of himself 5 years from now, playing four years for some mid-level D1 team, maybe even in a Power-5 Conference if it’s one of the bottom-dwelling teams. Being a standout for a team like Stonebridge, his chances of getting Big 12 Recruiting interest is pretty high, and if he’s smart about it and makes a good choice, he could really turn that into something. He could see himself achieving a moderate degree of college success, maybe even becoming one of the top receivers for the kind of team that puts up big offensive numbers but never cracks the top 25 in the AP Polls. He thinks he could even make it to the NFL that way, or least he hopes he could. Even if he’s not drafted he thinks he could still carve out a Wes Welker, Cole Beasley type NFL role for minimum money but also minimum pressure to produce. A place where he can have a real life, outside of football, and if it doesn’t work out, it’s no great loss. He’ll have a degree and will get a normal-guy job and that will be fine, too.

 

Because Tyler already knows he’s not going where Jamie’s going – knows he won’t be the one playing for one of those larger than life Powerhouse programs, with the major media exposure and the national spotlight and the rabid fanbase that takes their College Football way too seriously. He won’t be playing for any National Championships, or winning any individual awards – and that’s okay, he’s really fine with that.

 

The only part of it he’s not so fine with, the part that makes his throat get tight and his eyes start to sting is the part where he imagines Jamie drifting farther away, both physically and metaphorically. He knows Jamie will probably graduate mid-year next year and enroll at OU for the Spring semester so he can be there for Spring Training – because that’s what Big Time College Football expects of their top recruits, and Jamie always toes the line.

 

He doesn’t know how long it will take, but he imagines it happening slowly, the distance growing between Norman, Oklahoma and Stonebridge, Texas, then wherever Tyler ends up playing in college. Between the new life Jamie will have, and the new life Tyler will have.

 

Jamie’s profile will only get higher as time goes on, his face more recognizable. It’s going to get harder and harder for him to hide who he is, and what they are, until the point will come where he’ll have to make a choice.

 

Tyler knows what the choice will be, of course, he’s not fooling himself or anything. He can’t even say for sure if he’d make a different one, in Jamie’s shoes. Who in their right mind would give up a shot at national superstardom, multiple millions, and athletic glory, just to hang on to their high school boyfriend?

 

Jamie’s been preparing himself for his inevitable future, carrying himself like a media-trained superstar since he was fourteen even though he’s actually not required to be one yet. There’s nothing, and no one, that can pull Jamie off the path he’s destined for.

 

In August Michael Sam gets cut from the team that drafted him without ever playing a regular season NFL game, and Tyler wants to scream at the universe _okay, you can stop now, I get it_.

 

Tyler knows, okay? _He knows_.

 

But he can’t talk to Jamie about it, it’s the only thing he _can’t_ talk to Jamie about. So Tyler just kisses him to shut him up, whenever Jamie tries to talk too much about the future.

 

Tyler tries to distract him with his mouth and his hands and his body, tries to imprint everything they feel for each other right now, everything they are together and have meant to each other directly onto Jamie’s brain, and his heart, where it will stay with him long after Tyler’s faded from his life.

 

For now, Tyler’s determined to focus on the time they’ve got left, on the new season that’s just starting, on how much he can’t wait to be whispering in the dark again with Jamie, late nights after practice and games, all the plans they have for how to beat this team or that team, watching video and bouncing ideas off each other, breaking down offensive packages and defensive schemes, Tyler soaking up all the body heat and all the football IQ that Jamie’s willing to share.

 

For now, he’s just grateful to be here, to be in Texas with his family, and his team. Grateful to have this life that’s better in literally, like, every conceivable way than the life he had before. Grateful that he gets to ride the ride a little longer, side by side with a shooting Star – pun fucking intended – and when the time comes to let Jamie go, he will, because he has to.

 

Because the truth is he's known since the beginning, that’s the way this was always going to end.

**Author's Note:**

> First things first, you should know that yes, there is a planned sequel. Second things second, you should also know that said sequel currently consists of a 1700 word outline and a few imaginary conversations I have had in the shower, starring me in the role of both Tyler and Jamie. And, I'm notoriously bad at follow through, also. What I'm saying is feel free to petition the court to speed things long, but please don't be surprised/mad if the court is like - _yeah, but I'm kinda tired and there's Netflix, so._
> 
> The good (?) news is I tried to make sure this could stand on its own, just in case.
> 
> Other random tidbits:
> 
> Stonebridge, both the city and its school, are modeled on (and in my mind, geographically located directly on top of) Allen, Texas, which is a northern suburb of Dallas. It’s a major high school football powerhouse, the biggest high school in Texas (at least most years), and also the program that produced Kyler Murray, reigning Heisman Trophy Winner.
> 
> There’s a Stonebridge Ranch Country Club in the ‘burbs up near Allen, and I love that sweet alliteration, so Stonebridge Stars were born. 
> 
> You should google/YouTube ‘Allen Eagles Stadium’ to revel in its glory/ridiculousness.
> 
> You might also google Kyler Murray if you don’t know who he is. Jamie’s backstory is based loosely on his.
> 
> Allen High School won three straight State Championships with Kyler Murray at QB. They were undefeated through his Sophomore, Junior and Senior seasons.
> 
> The arc of the Stonebridge season is modeled almost exactly on the Junior season of Kyler Murray at Allen. The opponents are real schools, that actually exist. In particular, the State Semi-Final is almost a play by play description, because the real-life game was filled with the kind of drama that you usually have to make up. That Allen-DeSoto game in 2013 instantly went down as a classic in UIL Football Playoffs lore, both because it was a great game but also because it was pretty much the only time Allen was ever tested that season. Also, because Texas is definitely the kind of state for whom High School Football Playoffs lore is a thing. Obviously.
> 
> For reference, the UIL is the University Interscholastic League, which is the governing body of Texas public school sports, and most other extra curriculars as well (band, debate, one-act play, etc.). In most competitions schools are grouped by enrollment size to determine who they’ll compete against. As of 2013 5A was still the designation for the biggest (highest enrollment) schools. The designations now go up to 6A.
> 
> Worth noting, because it’s not this way everywhere and definitely not in Boston, which would have been Tyler’s previous experience: The vast majority of all kids in Texas go to public schools. Public Schools service more than 5 million kids. Enrollment in private/parochial schools is highest in the population centers, but extremely low, generally speaking. Private schools have their own governing body and their own leagues, and do not participate in the UIL. When we talk about State Champions, we’re talking about UIL Champions.
> 
> Also worth noting: while small-town Texas football is what you typically see romanticized and/or spotlighted in the media (often for compelling reasons), the fact is that about half of Texas students are enrolled in the largest 20% of its districts. 30% of its students are enrolled in just 18 of its 1000+ school districts. What this means is that urban and suburban schools are where the people, the money, and the diversity is, which statistically speaking means that’s also where the majority of Texas High School Football is played, these days. 
> 
> Most of those suburbs, like Allen, used to be farming communities out the outskirts of Dallas or Houston, but the city has long since encroached on them and they’ve become part of the vast urban sprawl. That’s why you see nomenclature used for schools such as McKinney and McKinney Boyd, or Mesquite, North Mesquite, and Mesquite Horn. McKinney and Mesquite are cities that once had only one high school (McKinney High School, Mesquite High School) but as their population exploded – and in many places continues to explode – they add more schools which are then referred to as such: Town name first, school name second.
> 
> Allen is an exception in that they have chosen to keep one high school, which is one of the reasons the school is so enormous.
> 
> IN OTHER NEWS: I have a [tumblr](https://makeit-takeit.tumblr.com/) now! I don't ever use it because I don't know how! But you can talk to me there, if you want to!


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